


winter's teeth among the shadows

by Ias



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Antagonism, F/F, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:17:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3458780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ias/pseuds/Ias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Queen Daenerys visits Winterfell to find Arya Stark a cynical and unruly complication. When news reaches her of a creature in the Wolfswood stalking the nearby smallfolk, Arya and Dany set out to hunt the beast together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in an AU, in which the Starks are doing a little better than might be reasonably hoped for in canon. Some characters are alive, others are still dead, and Daenerys has taken the throne of Westeros.

The fire leapt high behind the grate, deep golden and writhing like grass in a high wind. Dany watched it closely, for lack of anything better to do. She had spent the past hour staring out of the window to the line of trees that waited there, until the sun had set and everything beyond the castle wall turned to blackness. The cold had come then too, slipping through the stones and curling around the room like a stubborn cat. Dany had moved closer to the fire place in response, throwing on a healthy log and sitting as close to it as she could. The first thing she had learned about Winterfell was that you could never seem to get warm.

Her advisers had claimed that this trip was an excellent stroke of diplomacy. Her presence here reminded the Starks of who it was that they had bent the knee too, and the reminder was a necessary one. The North was notoriously unruly; it had been ten years since Robb Stark’s bid for his own throne, but the Northerns would remember it for generations—and Dany did not cherish the thought of having to put down a Queen in the North as well.

In truth, it was not the current Lady Stark which concerned Dany. Steely she may be, but Catelyn Stark had seen her fill of death. It was her daughter Arya that presented a problem—Dany had only met her on occasion, but it took only seconds to see the bitterness written into the younger woman's face, the anger. The fact that she was so incapable of hiding her resentment was reason enough to discount her, of course. Dany's most dangerous enemies were the ones who could smile to her face. Perhaps it was that reason she had chosen to assert her influence in Winterfell once again. It was easier to root out dissidents when they did you the favor of spitting in your face, metaphorically speaking .

 Dany picked up a loose piece of ash that had scuttled free of the fire pit and crushed it between her fingers. As grateful as she was to be free of the exhausting intrigue of King’s Landing, she had her reservations about coming here. For one thing, the cold didn’t suit her.

A light knocking at her door disturbed her thoughts. “Enter,” she said. A serving girl stepped inside, her hands clenched nervously in front of her and her back as stiff as a pike.

“My Queen,” she said, curtsying low. “If it please you, Lady Stark would have you for dinner.”

“Send her my thanks,” Dany replied. “I will join her shortly.”

Dany turned back to the fire, not waiting to see the girl leave. She had not been a girl herself so very long ago, but now she was a woman grown, with little enough time to waste on Arya Stark and whatever dreams of disloyalty she might be fostering. If she sat back and closed her eyes, she could feel Drogon’s presence on the edge of her consciousness. She had travelled all this way on his back, the trip taking hours instead of weeks on foot. She could be back in King’s Landing the same time. It would be best for everyone if this business was concluded quickly. Then she could return to a proper spring in the south, and leave Winterfell to brood away in the cold.

She donned the thick woolen dress that she had brought from King’s Landing for such an occasion. Its fabric was a stormy blue trimmed with the blood red of her house, the three-headed-dragon crest belted across her waist. There was none here to do her hair in the braided Dothraki style, so she settled for brushing it out over her shoulders in a white-golden tumble. She wore no crown or circlet; she need not remind people of her station.

Outside her door, the guards were waiting for her. Dany made her way through the halls with the clink of mail a constant companion. She had toyed with the idea of ordering her escort to stand down and allow her to move freely through the castle, but such a move would be folly as well as a potential insult to Winterfell’s hospitality. Besides, she would likely get lost without someone to guide her.

Catelyn Stark was feasting her in the private dining room, small by castle standards but still large enough to fit a good host of people. As Dany entered the people at the table rose respectfully until she found her seat at the head. She recognized few of their faces, and to be honest many of them looked the same; most of the men sported thick beards and grim demeanors, while the women’s eyes were watchful and wary.

Lady Stark was seated directly to her right, in simple but well-made robes of grey and pale brown. Her hair was pulled up tightly to her skull, exposing a thin and fragile neck. Although Dany knew that Lady Stark was not so old as many, she certainly did not look it. The skin under her eyes sagged in permanent bags, cut with creases and folds where her frowns had run themselves into a rut. Her hair was steely grey near the roots, though closer to the ends Dany could see the beautiful auburn that it must have once been. The seat to Dany's left was empty—Arya Stark was conspicuously absent. As Dany motioned for the company to seat themselves, Lady Catelyn nodded in greeting.

“It is an honor to have you at my table tonight, Your Grace,” she said.

“The pleasure is entirely mine,” Dany responded courteously. “It has been too long since I stood in these halls.”

Courtesies exchanged, it was only then that Dany allowed herself to turn her attention to the food. Laid out before her were plates of roasted fish stuffed with rosemary and butter, golden-brown rolls and more than five different kinds of fowl that she could immediately identify. In the center was a massive hunk of beef, crisped brown and still steaming. The aroma made Dany’s stomach twist with hunger.

“Your Grace has made her visit most timely,” Lady Stark said as Dany’s plate was loaded. “Already the spring is beginning to break, and the warmer months grow nearer every day.”

“I’m afraid the nuances of northern weather are lost on me,” Dany admitted. “My blood runs hot, and the air here feels nothing but freezing.”

Catelyn smiled. “I understand. I was born in Riverrun, and for a long time I too found the northern climate unpleasant. In the end I came to adjust to it.”

Dany paused. "Is your daughter Sansa still at Highgarden? I remember seeing her at court in years past. She has grown to be a very beautiful woman." And a good deal taller than Dany herself, at that.

"She is," Catelyn replied. "She and Margery Tyrell have grown quite close. I was sad to see her go, but she always did long for a different life than the North could offer."

"It seems your other daughter has taken to that life with more enthusiasm," Dany commented diplomatically. "I admit I was expecting to see Arya at dinner tonight." The Stark girl's absence was not a problem—there would be other opportunities to observe her, feel out for strengths and weaknesses, potential dangers in the path ahead.

Catelyn's mouth twisted ruefully. "I believe Arya will be joining us shortly." The motherly disapproval in Lady Stark's words was enough to make Dany break a smile.

In fact they were halfway through the meal when the doors boomed outward again, and a thin figure in armor came striding through the door. At first Dany took them to be a guard, until she met their eyes—she recognized that glare instantly. A cool smile spread over Dany's lips. It seemed Arya Stark had decided to make an appearance after all.

"My apologies," she said callously as she strode to her seat at the table. She paused by her seat and then bowed, not nearly low enough to be appropriate. "Queen Daenerys."

"Arya Stark," Dany replied, keeping her tone cool. "I scarcely recognized you under all that chainmail."

"It suits me best, my Lady," Arya said, sliding into her seat without leave. This close Dany could gauge her better, from the roundness of her face to the eyebrows set permanently in an expression of surprise of condemnation. Arya Stark was not a beautiful woman by any standard, either in form or personality. She seemed to enjoy being disliked instantly. Dany was only too happy to give her that.

She was one of the few who seemed damped by Arya's presence, however. Many of the men and women at the table visibly perked up at Arya's entrance, hiding fond smiles where they thought Dany wouldn't see. That was a bad sign. Clearly Arya was well-liked by her peers, and carried some influence. This situation was quickly becoming more complicated than Dany cared to untangle.

"Catch any wargs out in the woods, Arya?" one of the diners called over the table.

Arya grinned roguishly. "Not yet. I think they're scared of me."

"With good reason." Laughter rang down the table.

Dany leaned towards Catelyn Stark. "What is a warg?" she asked quietly.

"You might know them as skinchangers—people who can control the body of an animal with their mind," Catelyn replied. "It's an old Northern legend."

"Legend, my arse," one of the women at the table replied. "What else could have—" she broke off with a stronger curse, undoubtedly as a result of someone's elbow finding her ribcage.

Dany fingered the stem of her wineglass. She'd already had enough of these Northerners and their secrecy. "Is there something I should know about?" she asked, looking straight to Arya.

Silence settled over the dining hall. Arya merely shook her head with a faint smirk. "We've had some trouble in the villages bordering the Wolfswood. People going missing. Well," she shrugged. "The lucky ones go missing. The unlucky ones we find in pieces."

Dany felt the chill in the air more acutely at Arya's words, but outwardly she gave no sign. "Who would do this?"

"Not who, my lady, but what." Arya took a long draft from her cup, her eyebrows raised. "The tracks we've found belong to a beast of some sort. We've been hunting it through the Wolfswood for weeks, but it continues to elude us." She set her cup down with a sense of finality. "But not for much longer."

Dany tilted her head. "That does sound like trouble."

"Nothing our Arya can't handle," One of her companion said loudly, clapping the Arya on the back. It made sense for the woman to be so popular amongst her people, Dany reflected as the chatter broke out among her. Arya made no effort to distance herself from her men—she would ride out with them and kill the beast herself, and in bringing back its head only deepen their loyalty to her. Dany needed that loyalty for her own.

"And what is being done to prevent these killings?" she said over the clamor.

Arya raised her cup to her lips, her eyebrows raised. "I don't know how you do things in the south, My Queen, but I've found most problems this close to the Wall are best solved at the end of a sword."

Dany smiled sweetly. "Wonderful. In that case, I would be more than glad to help."

Arya blinked. "What?"

"It seems to me you would want to eliminate the threat to your smallfolk as quickly as possible," Dany said, blithely lifting a morsel to her lips. "Drogon and I could assist you from the air, and flush out this beast of yours."

"The Wolfswood is too thick. You would see nothing from the sky," Arya said, a note of irritation in her voice.

Dany shrugged. "Very well. Then I will accompany you myself, on horseback, with the rest of your party." Arya opened her mouth, a scowl darkening her face. "Unless you have any reasonable objections," Dany said, before the woman could say something she would truly regret. Dany could not afford to deal out any punishments on the Stark girl that would alienate the Northerners. Perhaps Arya knew that and perhaps she didn't, but she shut her mouth with a bitter expression.

"It will be hard going, my lady," she said. "Cold, and grueling, and not to mention dangerous."

“I have ridden with the khalasars across the Dothraki seas,” Dany replied. “There was plenty of danger there.”

“Yet little cold, I think.”

“I’ll pack a warm coat.” Dany cocked an eyebrow at the other woman, her lips twisting wryly. Arya looked very much like she wanted to argue, but she couldn’t do so without making herself seem weak in the eyes of her men. So she merely nodded, her jaw stiff, and silently began to eat. She was quiet for the rest of the night, the bravado retreating behind a wary shell. Dany felt her eyes darting over to her throughout the meal, but Dany did not meet her gaze. Perhaps Arya Stark had underestimated her in thinking she would be so easily shaken loose. But she would not do so again.

As she prepared for bed later that night, she paused to look out the window. Metal panes spidered through the pane like the branches of a tree, but outside she could see the vague outline of the land gilded in moonlight. Beyond the walls of Winterfell the forest sat waiting, and somewhere out there she knew her quarry was waiting too. She could practically feel it out there somewhere, not so much prey as an opponent to be measured and faced on equal ground. This was no simple boar hunt; this creature was smart, and powerful, and foreign to her, but Dany carried the same advantages.

That night she dreamed of forests and of wolves, the hard earth beneath her feet and the taste of blood in her mouth. She woke up shivering with her teeth chattering, and slept little for the rest of the night. It was only a dream, but there were few things more dangerous in this world or the next.


	2. Chapter 2

The morning dawned bitter and pale, and Daenerys awoke as cold as if she had lain in a tomb. Her breath misted faintly on the air as she pulled herself into a ball beneath the furs on the bed, blowing warm air on her hands. She did not allow herself the comfort of staying in bed for long. This was what she must come to expect, and worse. Cold was to be her constant companion here.

She rose, pulling her bedclothes closer around herself as she walked the frigid stones to the small window. Through the clear whorls of the glass she could see the faint outlines of buildings slowly stirring into wakefulness. Beyond, the hills and forests of the North spilled out in blues and greys, silent and waiting. At that moment, the idea of riding out into such a wilderness seemed like folly. It was foreign and unhospitable, and no light could penetrate it. But of course they would ride out all the same, and their torches would burn beneath the branches just as they did in the halls of Winterfell.

Somewhere in the sky her black shadow hung, high enough that the air turned to ice but never too far from her. After landing outside of Winterfell she had sent him away, to glide and hunt as he chose. He wouldn’t attack the smallfolk, although Drogon had always had a wildness to him that Dany could not tame if she wished to. The people might be safe, but their livestock might not be shown the same courtesy. He would be there for her, his delicate hearing tuned to the special horn waiting in her travelling pack. She would wear it on her hip at all times, ready in case the worst should happen. She was beginning to believe in that possibility.

Dany dressed with fingers that were numb and clumsy with the cold, the fire having died down in the night. The guards were waiting outside the door to show her to the courtyard, where Dany found her escort waiting for her. It was a small force just as she had requested, a mere five men on horseback bearing supplies and weapons alike. They all wore layers of leather, cloth, mail and furs, and bore the Direwolf of House Stark on their chests.

Arya Stark was waiting for her as well, mounted on a great black creature that chomped its bit with a mean look in its eyes. As she saw Dany approaching she slid from the saddle and met her halfway. Her body was compact, her movements tense and careful as a tightly coiled spring.

“My Lady,” she said, hardly bothering to conceal the sour expression on her face. Dany couldn’t help but notice that if her speech had become more courteous, the sarcasm had risen to match. “All the preparations have been made.”

“Very good,” Dany replied with ease. “When can we depart?”

“As soon as Your Grace is prepared to go herself,” Arya responded, her eyes taking in Dany’s choice in garb with thinly veiled skepticism. Most of Dany’s clothes had been brought from King’s Landing; she’d packed her warmest coats and cloak with the knowledge of the cold that awaited her. Compared to the Northmen, however, she couldn’t help but feel underdressed. Arya made no comment on it, though—perhaps she was hoping Dany would freeze to death—and instead led Dany to her own horse. It was a thick-set chestnut with a braided mane and lively eyes. The saddle was laden with her supplies and weapons, but Dany hoisted herself into it comfortably enough.

“Allow me to introduce your companions for this venture,” Arya said lightly, slipping back into the saddle as naturally as any Dothraki. “The man with the hoarfrost in his beard is Geeson, and he’s seen more of the Wolfswood in his one life than many has done in generations. And then you have the siblings Jacklyn and Alrik.” The two bobbed their heads in acknowledgement, the resemblance striking even between man and woman and behind Alrik's beard. “The last is Emry, Geeson’s daughter. You’re not like to find another as skilled with a bow north of the Twins.”

“A fine escort,” Dany said. The Northerns merely nodded in respect. She got the sense, not for the first time since arriving at Winterfell, that her presence was unwelcome among them. Of course, that was the reason she was here. She would make them accept her, just as she had made Catelyn Stark and her wayward daughter bend the knee.

The Lady of Winterfell joined them shortly herself, dressed in warm yet modest garb, clearly with no intention of joining them. She paused by Arya’s horse, exchanging a few quiet words—she had the sense not to look towards Dany, but her daughter was less discreet. When Arya’s eyes met her own, Dany knew that they were speaking of her. Whether Catelyn was offering advice or a warning, she could not be sure. Arya’s face remained stony all the same.

Catelyn made her way over to Dany a moment later, a small smile on her lips. Dany inclined her head as Catelyn bowed. “Queen Daenerys. I suppose it is too late to try and dissuade you from this venture.”

“And why should you want to dissuade me?” Dany asked with a raised eyebrow.

Catelyn looked away for a moment, gathering her thoughts. When she met Dany’s gaze next her cool grey eyes pierced straight through her. “There are many strange things yet left in this world, as you yourself know well. Not all of them deserve an end on the point of a sword.”

"I seem to have amassed a very respectable guard," Dany responded. She glanced over to Arya, found the other woman watching them with suspicion. "Do you not believe your daughter capable of ensuring my safety?" A faint pit of suspicion was gathering in her stomach, warning that perhaps riding into the forest with none but Northerners and their Arya Stark was not so very wise.  

Catelyn seemed to take her meaning. “Arya will give her life defending you, if necessary," she said, and Dany would almost believe it by the tone of her voice. Catelyn’s eyes bore into hers, hard and pitiless, and for a moment Dany was caught in that iron grasp. “I expect her to return with you, nonetheless. I have buried enough of my children."

Dany nodded, feeling a twinge of cold work its way into her heart. “I do not plan that any of us should die on this venture.”

Catelyn merely nodded, her expression inscrutable. “Then I will hold you to that, Queen Daenerys.” She bowed before Dany could respond, and as she walked-straight back towards the small assembly which had gathered to see the part off, Dany found herself wondering whether the North had been subdued after all.

The last of the men were mounting up, exchanging a few jests with the hardness behind their words signaling the time to leave was near. Dany’s eyes found Arya nearest to the gate, her horse already champing and snorting. The woman’s eyes were bright with a laugh, and her eyes full of a defiance that Dany was beginning to suspect never truly faded. Arya Stark defied all expectations, defied whatever the gods might send her way.  Dany could not help but admire it. She also knew that such a spark was what made Arya so dangerous.

“Company, form up!” Arya roared, cutting across the conversation and drawing the four other riders up behind her. Dany gave her horse’s sides a gentle kick, maneuvering him beside Arya’s mount to face the open portcullis before them.

“Ready for a true taste of the cold, My Lady?” Arya asked with a wry sideways glance.

Dany returned the look, her hands tightening on the reigns. “There’s no better heat than dragon’s fire, they say,” Dany said. “I do not fear the cold.”

“Perhaps you should,” Arya said shortly. A moment later she tapped her heels against her mount and sent it trotting through the open gateway, Dany and the rest of the Company following shortly afterwards. Dany did not look behind her to see Catelyn Stark’s stony face watching them go. She could feel the woman’s eyes all the same.

As she crossed the last stones of the keep and clattered over the moat, it was hard for Dany not to imagine the air growing slightly colder. Arya rode before her, chain mail jingling, and she cast a quick look over her shoulder to meet Dany’s eyes. She was unsure what she saw in Arya’s face just then, but perhaps it made the cold relax its grip ever so slightly. But not for long.


	3. Chapter 3

The northern forests breathed cold and wet on Dany’s face as she guided her horse through the trees. If this was spring she would not have known it—after only a few hours of mostly silent travel, Dany had already forgotten what it was to be warm. The bone-gnawing cold was a foreign sensation after so many years spent crossing deserts and plains, but it was not an unpleasant one. She welcomed the way her skin stiffened and prickled where the wind touched it, though she would not be shrugging off her furs any time soon. Queen of Westeros she may be, but this was not her world.

Around her the rest of the guard was loosely assembled, swaying with the motion of their horses. Arya was ahead, leading the party between the snow-streaked tree trunks. Dany found herself staring at the woman’s back, watching the back of her head turn from side to side seeking out dangers unknown. She looked at home in these woods, and the guards would occasionally glance to her as if for reassurance. Dany released a sigh as she tried not to feel envious of the devotion they obviously felt for the Stark woman. The breath of air billowed in the air, blurring Arya’s form before her.  

They had not been traveling for long when, from somewhere far away, a low mournful cry drifted through the trees. Dany reigned in her horse, listening closely. It came again, quieter this time, but still there. The rest of the party had heard it too, but few reacted beyond a few wary looks. Arya hardly spared Dany more than a contemptuous glance over her shoulder as she continued on, her horse kicking up clods of icy dirt as it continued ahead.

“Nothing to fear yet, my lady,” Jacklyn said from her side, her gloved hands tight on the reigns. “Only a common wolf.”

“Are they not a threat, so close to winter still?” Dany asked, keeping her voice level to cloak her unease.

“There’s more in those woods than just beasts, My Queen,” Alrik spoke up from Dany’s other side. There was already a coating of icy in his beard. “Some bandits make their home there, cutthroats that see fit to hide from the reach of the sword behind the trees. Some wildings, even, that come down from the wall and squat on our land until summer comes.”

Dany’s hand automatically flitted over the carved horn on her belt. Wherever Drogon was, he would come to her if it was blown. But of course, should a party of wildlings—or even something else—choose to ambush them, there was a chance even a dragon’s wings would not carry him to her fast enough.

If either of the siblings noted the movement they did not comment on it; silence quickly descended over the companions, the air seeming to leech their words from their throats before they were even spoken. Speaking felt almost profane in the stillness—the only sounds were the quiet ticking of melting water, the faint _clump_ of a tree shedding the snow from its limbs. Dany imagined that in the dead of winter, these woods would be locked in an utter, frozen silence.

The light had not yet begun to dim when Arya motioned for their company to stop. Without a word the guards began dismounting, Geeson tugging his bags from his horse as his daughter Emry began stringing her bow.

Dany glanced between them in mild bewilderment before raising her voice. “Is something wrong?”

The guards looked up at her with raised eyebrows. Arya did not deign to respond. “No, my lady,” Geeson said at last in his gravelly voice.

“Then why are we stopping?” Dany asked, her voice travelling from face to face.

“Dark falls quickly in the North.” Arya’s voice was curt, cutting across the air between them. She was already beginning to set up a tent. “We make camp now, while we still have the day.”

“But surely we have at least another hour or two of daylight left,” Dany argued. “We could cover more ground.”

Arya lifted her chin, her eyes hard. “Is that an order, my lady?” she said with deceptive sweetness. “Of course you have the option to disregard my advice.”

Dany stared at her, beginning to feel not at all unlike a fool. She could scarcely disagree with Arya, who had years of experience travelling over such terrain. “Very well,” she said shortly. After a brief pause the guards went back to their business, quickly setting up camp. Emry deposited the majority of her belongings save a bow and quiver, and set off between the trees with a light tread. As Dany dismounted and watched her go, a flicker of unease stirred in her breast.

“Is it safe for her to go off on her own?” she asked Alrik.

“There’s not much safety to be found out here I’m afraid,” Alrik replied mildly. “And I’d rather have dinner than not.”

Sure enough, Emry returned some time later with some rabbits in hand. By then camp had already been established, thickly-padded tents erected around a fire that Jacklyn had quickly set to making. They acted with the smoothness that came from experience—everyone had a task except Dany, who was left to her own devices. Instead of standing around helplessly she chose to tend to the horses, securing their feeding bags and removing their tack. It did not help her to feel any less like an outsider, extra baggage to be carried around and kept out of the way. If her purpose here was to remind the Northmen why they owed her their loyalty, she would need to do more than feed the mounts.

Before long Emry’s game had been skinned and the meat deposited in a pot—the rabbit stew produced a smell so tempting Dany almost felt it had been days since she had eaten. She and the rest of the guard sat around the fire waiting for Alrik to finish the meal.

“Come on, Alrik, we’re starving,” Jacklyn muttered.

“Not yet, you aren’t,” he shot back, accepting the bowls that Geeson dutifully passed him. He quickly began ladling out portions of stew and passing them around—Dany waited for her turn. Crusts of hard bread were distributed, and sunk into the broth to soften it.

“I imagine this sort of fare isn’t what you’re used to,” Jacklyn commented as Dany received her portion.

Dany lifted the bowl to her lips as the others were doing, the welcome heat searing at her lips. “I once ate an entire horse heart raw,” she said mildly. “I can’t imagine this could be any worse.”

Jacklyn raised her eyebrows and turned to her own meal rather than commenting. Emry was already leaning forward, her young eyes bright. “Why did you do that?”

“Emry,” Geeson said sharply. “Don’t forget who you’re speaking to.”

“It’s quite alright,” Dany said with a smile. “Eating a horse’s heart was the Dothraki custom. Since I was their Khaleesi, it was expected of me.” It was strange to speak of those times as if they were in the past. She supposed she had changed—she had needed to. But she could still taste the bitter blood, feel the fibrous muscle between her teeth.

“What was it like across the sea?” Emry asked. The firelight painted her face in shades of gold, and her dark eyes and darker hair seemed to lend her a feverish cast. The rest were seemed focused on eating their meals, yet the quiet suggested they were all listening intently.

“It was warmer,” Dany began, letting the memories carry her back. “The plains of grass were so wide they were like an ocean. It wasn’t an easy life, but it was not a bad one all the same…”

She spoke until the meal was finished, no one moving to interrupt her except with the occasional question. As the fire died lower and the darkness closed around them, Arya’s eyes scarcely left the smoldering coals. Dany was not sure if she was listening—she seemed in a world apart from their own. Yet Dany’s eyes kept finding Arya’s face, seeking out something there—she wasn’t sure what. She found nothing that she could understand.

When the guards rose to their tents, Arya batted away Jacklyn’s offers to take the first watch. She seemed intent on staring into the flames, prodding them back to life and holding her hands out to them for warmth. Emry pointed out which tent was Dany’s with a reassuring smile. “I can help show you how to pitch it tomorrow night, if you like,” she said.

Dany smiled in reply. “I would like that very much.”

Emry crawled into her own tent, sharing it heel-to-head with her father. Out of the four tents, Dany had to assume that the family members would share amongst themselves—it would be warmer. Yet it seemed that she would have a tent all to herself, and with a start she realized so would Arya Stark. Dany knew why she was being set apart, but why Arya would choose a colder sleep rather than choosing the warmth of her companions Dany could not say. Perhaps Arya was not as close to her followers as she initially appeared.

Dany paused before the flap of her tent, crouched down with a hand on the flap. Arya had taken out one of her daggers and begun to polish it, watching the way the light reflected its length. As she felt Dany’s eyes on her, her gaze rose to meet them—for a moment they regarded each other like wild animals crossing paths, wary and distrustful, each waiting for the other to speak the first word. But Dany had nothing to say, and after a moment she turned and crawled into her tent where a cold, empty bed awaited her.

As she wrapped herself in as much bedding as she could and squeezed her eyes shut, she thought of Arya outside, imagined her sitting up against the backdrop of the night, eyes turned out to the forest. Or perhaps she would be staring at Dany’s tent, those watchful eyes imperceptible. Dany wasn’t sure if the thought of Arya watching over her gave her any source of comfort. Perhaps comfort was a luxury she could no longer afford.


	4. Chapter 4

Dany awoke stiff and tired to a hand jostling her shoulder.

“We break camp now, my Lady,” came Emry’s quiet voice by her ear. Cold air accompanied her from the half-open tent flap she leaned in through. Dany nodded, reaching up to rub the sleep from her eyes as Emry retreated and the tent fell closed.

The hard ground had not been kind to her muscles, which were already stiff from riding. She forced herself to sit up and don her thicker furs without hesitation or complaint. She had been sleeping for too long on the soft beds of King’s Landing; it was difficult to admit her body might have gone soft in the process.

When she ducked out of the tent, a pale grey day awaited. Their camp had acquired a dusting of snow in the night, speckling the oiled cloth and mingling with the ashes in the fire pit. Dany quickly saw that all the others were already awake, breaking down their tents and readying the mounts. With a twinge, Dany realized she had slept later than she had intended; once again she had become the pampered southern noble among seasoned northerners.

She quickly set to taking apart her own tent, rolling up her bedding and glancing over to watch the others work when she became unsure how to proceed. Before too long she had her gear tied and bound on her mount without assistance. It wasn’t much, but it helped remind her that she was not totally helpless in this unfamiliar landscape. More importantly, it reminded Arya Stark as well. The woman was like a wolf herself—she could hardly be loyal to anyone she scented weakness on.

Too long Dany had remained at the Red Keep, cooped up like the stunted dragons before the Ursurper’s conquest. The false king Robert had reigned for years with hardly a kingly deed to his name; she feared if she immersed herself in politics for much longer she would become no better. In Drogo’s Khalasar, she could go where she pleased and do as she wished. Much had changed since then—but not so much that she could no longer sit a horse better than most in the Seven Kingdoms.

The party mounted up, leaving nothing but churned snow where once their camp had been. The sky above was white with a faint tinge of grey, the color of dead, frozen flesh. A few lazy snowflakes were already spiraling down.

Arya spoke from atop her mount, who was champing impatiently at its bit. “The abandoned watchtower isn’t far from here. We’ll reach it in a half days’ time.”

A few of the riders cast apprehensive looks at the sky. To Dany, it didn’t seem so threatening; with such a light fall of snow, the woods became almost whimsical, like something from a children’s story. But she didn’t disregard the hard set in Jacklyn’s shoulders, nor the way that Geeson tightened his coat around him.

Before long they had settled into the rhythm of travel, swaying with the gait of their mounts as they made their way through the trees. Before long Dany’s mount had fallen in with Emry’s, and the women exchanged a smile. “What’s at the watchtower?” Dany asked Emry.

“A camp of wildlings was using it for shelter,” the younger woman explained. “Some hunters found them about a week ago. Ripped apart.” She grimaced for emphasis. “It’s the last place we’ve gotten word of the creature’s presence. It’s as good a start as any.”

The day before there had been the soft piping of birdsong and the occasional rustle of game; today, it was as if the woods had been frozen into silence. The only sound was the soft crunch of her horse’s hooves on the hard ground. The temperature did nothing but drop since the group first set out, and now Dany found herself blowing on her hands and pulling her scarf over her face until the feeling came back to her lips.

Distantly she was aware of Drogon, but his presence seemed to grow further with every step she took. She thought of calling him that night, but it would be difficult and dangerous for him to land in the trees in the dark, and she had no real reason to be concerned. Only an itching feeling in the back of her mind that something walked through the trees beside her, but when she turned her head there was nothing but undisturbed snow.

Midday past, and still they travelled on. Dany glanced at Arya’s back; the woman showed no inclination that they were getting near. The sky had grown darker with every hour—even now the flakes were growing fat in the air. Jaw tightening, Dany urged her mount forward through the snow until she had drawn even with Arya. The woman cast her barely a glance out of the corners of her eyes before her gaze settled back on the path ahead.

“Is the tower much further ahead?” Dany asked, making no attempt to hide the curtness of her tone.

“Might be,” Arya responded. “Might not.”

Dany stared. “You don’t know? How are we supposed to know if we’re lost if we don’t even know where we’re going?” A thought occurred to her. “ _Are_ we lost?”

Arya snorted. “Don’t worry, Your Grace. I’ll get us there.” There was something in the way that Arya spoke Dany’s titles that made them sound like an insult. Dany chose to ignore it.

“What of the snow?”

Arya glanced up. A flicker of uncertainty passed over her face. “It’ll hold,” she replied.

Dany fell quiet. She considered dropping back in the line and leaving Arya to her silence, but something held her there. The woman was compelling, that was certain. There was a sharp insolence in her face that might have made her unattractive, but she wore it so jauntily it did nothing but suit her.

For the first time in their sparse conversation, Arya turned to look at Dany head-on. “Was there something you still needed, my Lady?” she said. Clearly she had known Dany was staring.

Rather than back down, Dany met her gaze. “Do you have any theories as to what exactly we’re looking for?”

To her surprise, something mournful flitted across Arya’s face. Dany saw her hands tighten on the reigns. “I can’t be sure,” Arya said at last. “These are strange times, though I can hardly remember the days when things were any different.” She fell silent again, and Dany thought she had finished speaking. But as soon as she had resolved to let Arya brood in peace, the woman spoke up again. “I think it’s a direwolf. The tracks match. And there’s not much else I can imagine doing so much damage.”

“And what would cause it to kill this way?” Dany asked. There was a strange tone in Arya’s voice, a tension whose source Dany could not place.

Arya shrugged. Now her eyes were set straight ahead, ignoring Dany’s own. “Starvation, perhaps. Winter is only just now breaking. Or the beast might simply be mad, sick or wounded and lashing out at anything that crosses its path. It doesn’t matter. All we have to do is kill it.”

Dany noted the bitter resolution on Arya’s face. “You certainly take your duty to your people very seriously.”

Arya glanced at Dany disparagingly. “Would you rather I sit in a tower and work on my embroidery?”

“Not at all. If only for the embroidery’s sake. I can only imagine what horrors you’d put it through.”

That wrung a wry smile out of the northerner, a feat Dany couldn’t help but be proud of. “I was never any good at being a lady, despite my mother’s best efforts. At least she got Sansa. She’s lady enough for both of us.”

“I don’t know,” Dany mused. “I think the highborn men and women in King’s Landing would benefit from a trek through the snow every once in a while. Let them have something real to complain about.”

“A week with me would shape them up. Probably kill them in the process, but that would still be an improvement.”

“You certainly seem to have a firm set of opinions about everyone south of the Twins.”

“The Twins are the worst of the lot, even after the Freys were wiped out.” Arya’s eyes travelled back to Dany’s, a little more furtively this time. “But I suppose there must be one or two people in King’s Landing who aren’t scheming idiots.”

“Anyone you’ve met?” Dany said with a grin.

This time, Arya’s smile was mischievous.  “I’m still deciding.”

“Arya, up ahead!” Geeson’s gravelly voice rose over the stillness in the wood. Dany’s head snapped around, immediately searching for danger until she saw Arya’s private smile widen. Following her gaze, Dany glimpsed a patch of grey through the snowfall and the trees. The stones of an old wall, and the faint shape of a crumbling tower rising up behind them.

“Still in doubt of my tracking abilities?” Dany turned to see the smile had fallen from Arya’s lips, but the remnants of it still clung around her eyes. It was said as a joke, but Dany recognized the faint challenge in it—the brief camaraderie they’d shared quickly slipped away.

All the same, Dany’s lips quirked. “I suppose we weren’t as badly lost as I might have feared.”

Arya seemed satisfied with that. The rest of the group had solidified around them, Emry adjusting her quiver, Alrik fingering the pommel of his sword. Their gazes travelled from the watchtower to the woods around them, uneasiness written into all of their faces. At once Dany was sobered by the memory of what had brought them here in the first place: the beast stalking these very woods, and the grisly tokens it had left behind those stones. Her horse stirred nervously beneath her. She tightened her grip on the reigns.

After a moment, Arya nodded. “Right then,” she said quietly. “Let’s move.”

They stole through the trees to the cold grey stone beyond, towards whatever awaited them within.


	5. Chapter 5

A low stone wall stood guard around the base of the tower, leaving a small courtyard just within. There were mounds under the frozen snow that could have been buildings once, crumbled and rotting into shapeless forms. The party filed its way through a low point in the wall. A shiver drew a line down Dany’s back as she passed over the threshold, though she couldn’t say why. This was the closest thing to civilization they’d found since riding into these woods. She should have felt comforted.

“Jacklyn. Alrik. Scout the perimeter,” Arya barked. The hint of ease Dany had teased out was gone, sealed behind the familiar hard facade. Whatever it was about this place, Arya felt it too—they all did. Dany could see it in the set of her companion’s shoulders, the way Emry’s eyes darted from shadow to shadow and Geeson’s hands tightened on the reigns. The snow, left over from previous storms but long to melt in such cold temperatures, softened every edge into sloped, rounded shapes. It also sucked up every ounce of grey light from the low-hanging sky above, and threw it back into the riders’ eyes. The world had lost its definition, becoming all white and grey.

The stone tower stretched above her, pushing up past the tree line behind it like a straight finger jabbed at the sky. The snow in the shadow of the wall was shallower where the winds had blown it, and as Dany’s mount followed Arya’s around its base the signs of its neglect were clear. The stones were tumbling down in places, enough for her to see to the interior, which was desolate and crumbling. She could see no mark of a House or purpose for erecting it in the middle of the woods.

The minutes passed in tense silence before Jacklyn and Alrik returned. Their faces were grim. “No tracks or signs that anything’s been here since the snow last night,” Alrik said, snow crinkling in his beard. He paused then, and glanced at Jacklyn, whose face was as hard as stone.

“Well?” Arya said sharply. “What is it?”

“It’s only that…” Alrik broke off, and Jacklyn raised her head.

“We found the bodies,” she said.

 

 

Just outside the gap that once must have been the main gate was where the first of the lumps began. They were strewn out like stones cast from a child’s hand, clustered in a vague line that wandered out of the circle of stone and towards the woods just beyond. To Dany’s eyes, they looked like nothing more than fluffy little hillocks smothered in white—but Jacklyn and Alrik’s tracks led up to the first couple, and those had been brushed free of their white coats and exposed to the frigid air. Beneath the white, flat bank of clouds above them, there were no shadows.

“Last snowfall was at the ha’moon,” Geeson murmured to Arya as they dismounted to walk the rest of the way. “They must have met their fate just before then.”

The first of them was lying face-down, and looked nothing like he was sleeping. It would be difficult to find comfortable rest without arms. Chunks of flesh on the back had been ripped away, presumably as something pinned the corpse down and tore into it. There was very little blood—only flesh turned purple and black from exposure, with the yellow bones cracked and jutting from within. The second uncovered mound was much smaller, lying face-up, and less savaged. Dany did not look at that smooth young face for long. She had seen death often. That did not mean that she was hardened to the body of a child lying under the pitiless winter sky.

“Why would they leave the shelter of the tower?” Emry whispered.

Arya stood nearby. She stared at the bodies blankly, without blinking, although Dany was not sure what she was seeing. It seemed she was looking far away, but there was no grief on her face. Dany was surprised to see a flicker of something that almost resembled fear pass over the other woman’s face. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“There could have been many reasons,” Arya said tiredly at last. “None of them matter now. We’ll search the tower for any weaknesses in its defenses, but one way or another we’ll have to stay the night.”

Dany glanced at the sky. There was no sign of the light fading—in that flat white void time seemed utterly meaningless. Was Drogon up there, somewhere far above the clouds? He had to be. She fingered the horn at her belt, a motion Arya did not fail to note. Dany’s hand flew from it quickly, balling into a fist at her side. She wasn’t sure why. Perhaps she didn’t want Arya to think that she was afraid. She would not rely on her dragon, not when the rest of her party had no such advantage. If Dany wanted to prove her worth, this was the way to do it. She looked away from the sky, and back to the shapes before them, though it set a dull ache in her heart.

“Can’t we move them?” Dany said. “Bury them? Burn them?”

Geeson stared down at the twisted shapes. “Not in this weather,” he said. “Frozen solid.” He nudged a lump of cloth with his boot, or more accurately he tried to. It didn’t move. “We’d have to go at them with chisels and hammers just to get them free of the ice. And getting a big enough fire started outside…” He shook his head.

Dany stared down at the shapes with an empty sort of sorrow. Perhaps before now she hadn’t really understood what it was she was doing out here. She’d come out to make a point, to settle her political alliances. But people were dying, _children_ were dying, and in this moment there was nothing she could do for them.

She looked up, feeling the weight of someone’s gaze on her—for a moment her eyes locked with Arya’s, dark and unreadable. The short-haired woman turned away quickly enough, but not before Dany felt something—a moment of regard, as if something in Arya’s perception of her had changed.

“We’ll inform the rangers to build a pyre here come springtime,” Arya said brusquely. “It’s our job to ensure the beast is long dead by then.” She turned and left before anyone could say anything. Dany watched her go. It wouldn’t be enough for these people, that small attempt at justice—for them, it was far too late.

 

 

The snow had drifted up against the doorway to the tower, making accessing it a challenge. Any door that had once stood on its threshold had long since rotted away; some time ago someone had hung a flap of hide up to keep out the worst of the cold, and it had frozen solid to the snow. Emry hacked at it with her knife while the others struggled to make a path from the door to the relative shelter of the wall where they were hobbling their horses nearby. It was some time before they could start moving their gear into the tower itself, and the cold crept deeper beneath their cloaks and furs by the second. At one point Geeson removed his hat and tilted his ear to the sky, as if listening to something. “Storm’s on the way,” he decided.

“How do you know?” Dany asked.

Geeson grinned at her. “I’ve been out in these woods since before you were a babe, your highness. I know.” Dany didn’t press him.

When Dany finally shouldered aside the remaining hide door and walked into the tower itself, she was struck immediately by the smell: of dust, but not decay. It was too cold here for anything to rot—any cloth and furniture left in this tower when it was abandoned had been broken down by human hands rather than the elements, as evidenced by the charred remains of a fire pit in the center of the tower. There were no cobwebs, either—shadows clung in the corners and crannies of the tower instead. Through a single door across the room Dany could glimpse the beginning of a set of stone stairs curling around the perimeter of the tower, like the coils of a python.

“We go up,” Arya said from behind her.

Dust rose up from her footsteps as she climbed the stairs, narrow slits in the walls the only light to go by. The sound of Arya’s footsteps just behind her was a comforting presence in the gloom. The tower had not looked so high from the outside, but it seemed they climbed for hours—finally the stair opened up into a large circular room with no windows, lit from a hole in the ceiling. Underneath were the crumbled remains of a ladder, and as Dany stood beneath it she could see that there was a second level above that seemed to be open to the elements. The opening was too high for her to reach.

Arya surveyed it with faint approval. “This will be a good place to make a base camp,” she said. “We can light a fire in here under the trap-door.”

“And if we can get through it to the roof, we’ll have an excellent vantage point,” Dany suggested.

Arya snorted. “An excellent view of all the trees, you mean. What we’re looking for can’t be seen from up high, my lady.” She brushed past Dany before she could form a response, leaving her alone in the tower room. The shadows seemed to frown at her, reflecting her mood. It seemed for every moment she and Arya shared, the other woman was dedicated to ensuring Dany knew they were still far from friends. Clearly the Stark was not accustomed to warmth.

For a while, she paused in the tower’s upmost room. There was no sign of any who might have previously stayed in this very room. It seemed a good place to take shelter. With a chill, she wondered how many people had thought the same. Would there be anyone to come looking for them, and gathered their torn and bloodied remains from the snow? 

 

 

A few short trips later the group had carried up all the gear and supplies to the room at the top of the tower. Dany looked in worry at the horses huddled near the walls outside, but the creatures were bred to survive the cold, and their humans couldn’t say the same for themselves. By the time the last of their gear had been hauled up to the top of the tower, the white expanse of clouds had begun to darken into night. Dany made the final trip up the steps with the open doorway behind her, the strip of hide flapping loose as the wind picking up and danced around the edges with a peculiar whistle. It yawned at her back, a dark void, and the skin between her shoulders itched until she was well up the stairs. There was little to block it with.

The only consolation was that anything that wanted to get to them would be coming up these very stairs. They would hear it coming. They would have time to prepare themselves—for a fight, or for death. Such grim thoughts hung close around her as the night closed in around them.

They had built up a moderate fire beneath the hole where the trapdoor leading to the roof once had been. Smoke and ash tumbled up through it—occasionally a couple of snowflakes would drift down to meet it, and melt before they had even neared the floor. Emry sat whittling a stick by the fire, while Geeson cleaned his tack and gear. Jacklyn had first watch in the bottom room of the tower—Alrik was quiet, as he had been since the discovery of the bodies.

Only Arya seemed to feel no such qualms. The air was filled with the rasp of her whetstone as she drew it over the edges of all her knives, slow and painstakingly thorough. Dany’s eyes were drawn to the movement, so rhythmic and repetitive that she found her eyes growing heavy. Back and forth. A scrape of stone and metal, as coarse as a death rattle.

“Tomorrow, we fortify camp,” Arya said between strokes. As if punctuating her words, a quiet grumble ran through the air, like a shiver might travel over one’s skin—Dany tensed, her heart beating quicker, but when Arya’s eyes flicked upward she realized it had only been a distant peal of thunder.

“The storm’s far away yet,” she said. “But I don’t like this weather. It circles around us, closing in on us hour by hour—but what’s it waiting for?” She seemed almost to be talking to herself. Dany was surprised. Arya didn’t seem a woman prone to plumbing the depths of her own consciousness—but what did Dany truly know of her?

Arya shook her head as if to clear it. “We’ll fortify camp,” she repeated, as if reminding herself of that fact. “And then, we’ll go hunting.”

The words built in the air, alongside the heat and smoke and electricity of the coming storm. The firelight played over Arya’s face, licking holes under her eyes and in the shadow of her nose. She drew the whetstone over her knife one last time, a long, hoarse rasp. To Dany, she looked elemental. But Arya stared only at the flames.

One by one the rest of the group filed away to their bedrolls, clustered close around the fire for warmth. Emry left to relieve Jacklyn of her watch, giving Dany a sleepy smile as she passed by. Dany settled down on her own bed with the others, coming close to Arya’s space near the fire as she did. The woman sat upright still, her knives all sharpened and put away—now she was carefully oiling the leather of her horse’s bridle, fingers moving deftly and already stained dark. As Jacklyn returned from the stairs and immediately collapsed onto her bedding, the room grew very still. It seemed every else was asleep but the two of them.

“Don’t Direwolves need sleep as well?” Dany asked in an undertone.

Arya glanced at her without turning her head, little more than a darting of her eyes. “Are you afraid of the beast coming in and devouring us in our beds, Your Grace?”

“Actually, I was referring to yourself.”

Arya blinked—but after a moment, a tired smile crept over her lips. “Yes, we sleep at times,” she said, rubbing out a particularly tough spot in the leather. “But not so easily under the eyes of a dragon.”

Dany stretched out on her pallet, propping her cheek up on her hand. “This dragon’s eyes are about to close,” she murmured, and didn’t have to feign the edge of sleep in her tone.

Arya’s eyes stayed on her work. “I’ll stay up a while longer,” she said softly.

“There’s already a watch set below,” Dany said with a frown. “Do you plan on sitting awake all night, in case the beast drops in from the sky?”

“I have to make sure our royal visitor lives to nibble sweetmeats in the comfortable south again, don’t I?” Arya said. She glanced up at Dany. In the blink of an instant, Dany saw her eyes wander—skim over Dany’s stretched-out form beneath her blanket, and then quickly blink away. It happened so quickly Dany thought she might have missed it. Especially for the hard edge that touched Arya’s expression a moment later.

“Don’t worry about me, my lady,” Arya said quietly. “I’ll sleep when I need to.”

Dany stared at her a moment longer, but Arya’s eyes did not budge from their work. Dany rolled over, putting her back to the other woman to give her as much privacy as was possible. She was too tired to worry about what might be going on in Arya’s head. Just before she closed her eyes, she wondered if Arya’s gaze had returned to her as it had before, traveling over her as it might have inspected a rocky incline for a foothold, calculating—and yet the heat that had flared up in Arya’s eyes had been strange, and not-unwelcome.

The warmth of the fire danced over Dany’s back like questing fingers. She fell asleep to their caresses, yet her face was to the dark and the cold.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

_A sea of white._

_That is what Dany sees. It drifts beneath her, peaked waves jutting into the air, crystalline and motionless. She drifts on wingbeats which come so slowly it's as if she is suspended only by a thought—only when she begins to descend does she realize the white waves are large enough to swallow the mast of a mighty ship. The landscape is huge, endless, and at once she feels the first stirrings of fear; but as she flies lower she also flies faster, the waves frozen beneath her in the act of gashing the sky._

_Chasms open up below her the farther she goes—the icefield turns to snowy tundra, and trees rise out of it like the hackles of a beast. She sinks so low that she is flying beneath the trees, skimming over the ground as they whip past her, around her, the cold in her breath and her blood. It’s a fierce joy that bottles up in her chest as she barrels through the northern wilderness, joy which seethes up into her throat and then out of it, a howl which tears through her like the blade of a sword wrenched free._

Dany jolted awake. For a moment she thought the cold locked around her body was a remnant of the dream, but there was no joy in it now—immediately she began to shiver, her muscles sore from the press of the flagstones beneath her pallet.

She lay very still for a long while, listening closely—she halfway expected to hear the echoes of that howl in her dream resounding in the room around them, torn from her sleeping throat. There was nothing but silence, and the restless stirring of the embers slowly consuming themselves. Only a lingering shadow of the dream. Dany shivered, and closed her eyes. The sun had not yet risen.

When the howl came a second time, closer and much louder, Dany's eyes snapped back open.

She sat up and met Emry’s eyes—one look told Dany that Emry, awake on watch, had heard it too. Her eyes were round, and the red light of the embers scarcely served to illuminate her face.

"What was that?" Dany whispered.

Emry’s eyes darted around the walls, scanning the tower’s arrow-slits. At once Dany thought about how bright the dying embers of a fire might appear, if glimpsed through a crack on a moonless night. The top of the tower would shine like a beacon to eyes that favored the dark.

"Probably just a wolf," Emry said unconvincingly. "The wood's full of them."  

 "I thought wolves traveled in packs," Dany said. "I only heard one."

Emry was just opening her mouth to respond when the next howl drifted in, like a cold wind through the fluttering cloth at the window. Closer still. Deep, and bitter, and raising like a wail before sharping cutting off. If it was a wolf, it was like no wolf Dany had ever heard. The pain in it was almost human.

"Wake the others," she said quietly. Dany did not need to be told twice.

She moved from bedroll to bedroll, waking each sleeping form with a touch or a jostle, telling them in an undertone what she and Emry had heard. By mutual and unspoken agreement, everyone moved very quietly. Dany was not sure it was the instinct of hunters not wanting to alert their prey, or of prey hoping to evade the hunter.

"What's goin' on," Geeson mumbled into his beard as Emry shook him away a short distance away.

"We heard a howl."

"A howl? In these damn woods? You know how many wolves there are—”

"And if it isn’t a wolf?" Jackyln whispered. “Do you expect us to go rushing out into the dark to fight an enemy we can’t even see?” Her eyes were still dark with sleep, but the fingers tightening her sword belt were not clumsy at all.

"We came this way to hunt the beast, not to sit quivering in a tower while it feasts on the dead,” Alrik said.

"Very well then, brother, why don't you be the first to go down?"

“Has anyone woken Arya?” Dany said, but no one seemed to hear her.

Geeson shook his head, rubbing his eyes blearily. "Jacklyn has a point, Alrik—with no moon to see by we'd be as good as a haunch of meat ”

"Well we can't just stay up here.”

"And what of the poor folk we found in the snow, do you think they might have left the tower too--"

From outside, a scream like the sound of tortured metal being twisted until it snapped.

The silence lasted only a moment. "The horses," Emry whispered.

The sound came again and again, raising into a chorus of desperate terror—over the hiss of the wind Dany could hear a thump, over and over. In the darkness, something growled.

Everyone in the tower leapt into action; hands went to swords, torches hastily kindled—a careless foot brushed the embers and sent them spraying across the stone like a constellation. There was no call for silence now—beneath the shouts and metallic grind of swords being drawn, the screams and growls continue.

Dany’s eyes raked the chaos, panic closing around her throat. Where was Arya? At any moment Dany almost expected to hear her screams rising to join the horses—until she saw the motionless bundle lying furthest from the fire. Arya’s back was to the chaos, her tufts of dark hair visible over the blanket. She did not seem to hear the shouts around her. She did not move at all.

Dany fell to her knees at the woman's side, terror gripping her throat—she was afraid, for no reason she could understand, that she would find Arya's flesh cold and dead. But the arm Dany gripped was warm. “Arya—” She pulled the blankets back and shook her. Even in sleep, Arya’s muscles were bunched beneath Dany's grip, twitching and tensing as if in a fit. The growling rose with the fevered terror of the horses, close and strange, as if made by the wrong type of throat. As Dany bent over Arya’s sleeping face, she realized that the growls were coming from Arya’s own mouth.

Fighting down the horror that threatened to choke her, Dany grabbed Arya's shoulders and shook her. " _Arya_!" she shouted into her face. " _Wake up_!"

Arya’s eyes snapped open. For a brief instant they stared up at Dany with nothing human in them at all. Her teeth were bared in  grimace—or a snarl. Dany almost jerked back, as if Arya might try and _bite_ her. But then Arya blinked, seemed to piece together where she was. No one else heeded the two huddled figures in the shadows. Emry lunged through the doorway, Gleeson and Jacklyn on her heels--the rest would follow shortly.  

Dany watched the knowledge gather in Arya’s eyes, the understanding of what had happened—of what Dany had seen. When she reached for her sword belt Dany knew she was fully herself. Arya sprung to her feet without a word, not so much as meeting Dany’s eyes. Arya’s mouth was a hard line as she grabbed her gear and ran down the stairs. Dany, baffled and afraid, had no choice but to follow her.

Shouts carried up to Dany's ears as she stumbled blindly down the narrow steps. Ahead, torchlight glowed red and malevolent as if they were descending into some pit of torment. Dany could not let herself slow down, even when her feet nearly flew out from under her. She kept Arya in sight. Her shadow bulged and warped over the walls into unrecognizable shapes.

At last Dany stumbled free of the tower and into the bracing grip of snow. Wind drove into her eyes, blinding her—for a heartbeat she was left clutching at her dagger, hearing only the shouts and a dull, rattling moan. When she raised her head against the icy daggers again, she saw points of torchlight waving frantically in the light, vertical shadows stirring the snow. It did not register at first that there was no more screaming. Nor that the ink-dark stains spilling over the churned snow were blood.

"It's over," Geeson said grimly, though he did not sheath his sword. With the weight of nausea tugging on her throat, Dany saw that it was true. The post where they had hitched their horses was a splintered ruin; the thumping sound Dany had heard must have been the animals desperately struggling to break free, as they scented their death creeping closer out of the snow. Had it come on them like an animal, stalking them until the bloodlust drove it to pounce? Somehow, Dany did not think so. It had known the horses could not escape. It would have walked up to them, slowly, without attempting to hide, and destroyed them one by one with a patience no animal should have.

The bodies lay all around them: torn to pieces. Strands of flesh trailed long and gruesome where they had been thrown from the carcasses. Shards of bone whiter than the stained snow, snapped like branches in a storm. On impulse, Dany’s hand fluttered to the place on her belt where her horn should have been. It was empty—she had left it near her pallet. Not once in the terror had she thought to call Drogon.

"Some of the horses broke free," Emry said, fingering a broken length of rope and the splintered post.

"Likely they're butchered by now," Alrik said. Emry shot him a look of such fury Dany thought she might strike him, but instead she looked away and swallowed hard.

"It came from the east. The tracks are larger than any I’ve ever seen." Jacklyn bent over them, murmuring in amazement. Dany did not look. Instead she stared at Arya, the mute, tense lines of her back as she stared out into the darkness beyond the crumbling wall. This was not the commander Dany had met back at Winterfell, nor the competent hunter she'd seen in the woods. What Arya was now, Dany could not rightly say.

"Not all the bodies are here," Geeson said, prodding at a detached flank with the point of his sword. "It would have dragged its meal away to eat, and it can't have gotten far. We should go after it."

"Are you mad?" Jacklyn cried. "In the dead of night, with no mounts?"

“I agree with Geeson,” Alrik said. "This will be our best chance to catch the beast—"

"Or of it catching us."

"I didn't take you for a coward, sister.”

"Watch your tongue—”

"We wait." The words were spoken sharply enough to cut every argument short. Arya turned around. Her face was hard. "If we go after the beast in the dark, it will kill us to a man. Dawn is coming soon. We move out to track it at first light."

None could have argued with that voice—none did. There was only a faint shifting in the eyes, a sudden blinking to suggest that anyone was surprised to hear Arya herself recommend restraint.

"Arya, the wind," Jacklyn said. "There's a storm coming. If we leave the tower, it may come upon us while we have no shelter."

"It will come upon us either way." Four pairs of eyes shifted nervously. Arya stared at them hard. "Start preparing," she snapped, and they jumped into action. They trusted their commander without question. Dany almost wished she could do the same.

She remembered the growls. The twisted snarl on Arya's face as she woke. From the way she avoided Dany's gaze entirely, Arya knew that Dany was the only person who had witnessed it, how her growls had grown more fervent as the screaming horses died.  

That was why Dany stopped in the shelter of the doorway, as the rest of the group slipped back into the tower. Arya alone remained, staring down at the carnage as the wind whipped fresh flakes over the bloody snow around her. As Dany watched, she doubled over—but not to inspect a carcass or a track. The retching that filled the air was so unexpected that Dany was paralyzed. She knew from the tales that Arya had seen much worse than some savaged horses.

Arya braced her hands on her knees, staggering ever so slightly, before she straightened and kicked some extra snow over the contents of her stomach. With a  shaking hand she wiped her mouth, made as if to scoop up a fresh handful of snow to clean it with before realizing that all of it was tainted. Only when she turned back to the tower did she realized Dany was watching.

She froze. For a moment Dany almost thought she would bolt out into the night like a wild beast surprised by a hunter. It was the first time she had seen fear in Arya Stark's eyes, and even that sign of weakness didn't satisfy Dany the way it might have when she first heard the woman's boasts rising to the rafters in Winterfell's main hall. Now, it made Dany colder.

"Arya—”

"I'm fine," Arya snapped. She made to brush past Dany into the tower door—Dany caught her arm. Arya seemed surprised by the strength of her grip.

"What happened to you?" Dany said quietly.

With a violent wrench Arya tore her arm away, and yet remained standing at Dany’s side. "Nothing."

Dany refused to let her go. "I heard you _growl_ , Arya."

"It was only a dream." Arya was little more than a shadow against the dark blue snow, blurred by the driving wind. "Do you trust that I would never harm you—any of you?"

Dany stared at her. Neither of them had a torch. The only light came from what snow had remained untouched, the light of the stars captured and thrown back to them from that blanket of white. Arya looked entirely different in its glow. Gaunt, otherworldly. Dangerous. Her eyes lapped up that light and swallowed it whole.

"Yes," Dany said at last, though she was not certain it was the complete truth.

"Then there's nothing more to say." Arya began to turn—Dany stepped closer. She was so near that the fog of Arya’s breath swirled over Dany’s throat, the flutter of her eyelashes flecked with snow.  

"Arya, she said softly, "what is hunting us?"

For a long moment Arya stared at her. When she stepped away a second time Dany let her go. Without another word she ascended the darkness of the stairs, and with the wind howling at the door behind her, Dany followed.


	7. Chapter 7

Dawn crept over the snow with rose-tinted fingers, kindling the blood on the snow from black to deep red as the party set out from the tower. The wind blew hard from the west, plastered against Dany's back and whipping her hair against her cheeks in frozen strands. Behind them, the tower rose up against the bank of gathering clouds, a sword raised to the sky to cleave the storm in half. It seemed half the sky had turned to heavy stone. Dany trooped towards the clear patch in the east like she might scurry out from under the clouds before they crashed down on her.

The party skirted the tracks in the snow leading from the old guard post. Flecks and gushes of  frozen blood intermingled with the massive craters where the beast's paws had landed. Dany could not help but stare at how massive those tracks were. Her entire head could have fit into them, with room to spare.

"Stay close together," Arya said sharply. "Keep your eyes on the trees."

"The beast just fed," Geeson said. "Why would it turn around to hunt us now?"

Arya said nothing.

Dany knew from experience that it was deadly folly to interrupt any of her dragons while they feasted on a kill. But if the creature was still at its meal, it would be preoccupied, and stationary; they might even be able to sneak up on it.

Progress from the tower was slow. The old snowfall had melted and refrozen into a hard crust, so that their heavy boots would break through it with a lurch every time they took a step. Emry took the lead, her eyes fixed on the snow as she led them beside the tracks. For such a massive beast, it led them on a strange and winding course through the trees; it seemed to actively seek out patches of rock or hard ice, where its path would be marked only be the occasional splotch of blood.

"Damn this creature!" Emry cried, as they reached what appeared to be another dead end and had to return to the main tracks. "It's as if it knows we're following it!"

"No beast I've seen will move like this," Alrik said grimly. "It thinks like a man."

"Quiet," Arya said, and the note of warning in her voice silenced them all.

The trees laced tighter around them, their white trunks and leafless branches rising high and straight around them, as if the snow itself has begun to sprout. The tracks led them up higher ground--the deep green of fir trees began to weave in and out of the bone-white bark. They broke the wind so that it did not howl so fiercely at their backs, but its mournful cries still sounded high over the tops of the pines. The front of the storm was almost upon them. When she looked up, Dany could see it creeping over their heads, a dark line marching over their heads.  

"I don't like this," Jacklyn said softly at Dany's side. Her eyes were on the trees around them, her gloved hands tight on her sword. The tracks led into a dense grove of the thick fir trees, their needles almost black against the snow. Emry hesitated for a moment before the trees. A pair of sweeping branches opened up like a gateway onto the disturbed snow, revealing only a labyrinth of trees beyond.

"Arya?" Emry asked.

Arya gave a stiff nod. "We'll never get a better chance than this. We keep moving."

But this time Arya took the lead, gently pulling Emry back so that she walked beside her father. The branches brushed Dany's shoulders as she followed them into the thicket. At once, the sensation of being squeezed, surrounded, _trapped_. The gap between every tree they passed held the potential for an attack. High above the tops of the pines were thrashing, but down among their thick skirts there was nothing but eerie stillness, the smothered ruffle of wind creeping in like a breath on the backs of their necks.

"Lady Stark," Dany said, and the title made Arya's steps falter. "I believe we should turn back."

For a moment she actually thought Arya might agree. But she just shook her head, snowflakes brushing from her dark hair. "We've come this far. We're close, Daenerys. We can end this right now."

"Are you certain it will end the way you wish?"

“It will,” Arya said through gritted teeth, and plunged forward once again.

Dany's hand stayed on the horn at her belt. If she called him, would Drogon reach her in time—would he even be able to pass through the storm? The roar of the wind grew more desperate above them—snowflakes filtered through the tops of the trees to eddy around them like pale and silent flies.

At last they brushed past a final fringe of pine needles and stepped into an open clearing; a dark red mass lay in the middle of a circle of churned snow. Emry already had her bow drawn and raised as the group fanned out, but nothing in the clearing moved--a faint coating of new snow blurred the remaining carnage.

The horse’s body lay at the foot of a shallow hillock, the snow so bloodied and churned that it looked as if something had attacked the ground itself. In the light of day Dany saw strips of flesh and skin laid bare, blood frozen into red icicles dangling from bared ribs. Slowly the group advanced; none of them looked on the carcass for long.

"I don't see any tracks," Emry said.

Jacklyn’s eyes scraped the snow around them. "Could it have swept its trail clean?"

"How would it _know_ \--"

"This beast isn't natural," Alrik muttered, his voice strained. He walked over to the carcass of the horse, nearly stumbling in the churned snow frozen back over. "It's gone, disappeared into the storm—drawn us after it for nothing more than to freeze to death!"

He whirled on the carcass. His boot lashed out, connected with a sickening crunch of bone. Dany looked away, her stomach turning. If he was right, if the beast was gone, they would have to find their way back to the tower—or remain in the shelter of the pines until the storm passed. Dany tried to recall what she knew of Northern weather, even in what was supposedly the spring. The North did everything in extremes. The storm could last for days. Weeks.

From behind her, a second crunch, followed by a sharp cry. Dany thought that Alrik had lashed out at the carcass again, hurt himself on a shard of bone—she did not fully understand what she was seeing as she turned to face him once again.

The hillock had stood up.

Churned and bloody snow sloughed off its broad shoulders as it slowly shook itself. Grey fur, mottled with white and cream and so thick Dany's hands would have disappeared within it; a long predatory muzzle, and two golden eyes the size of Dany's clenched fists. The top of her head would have reached the creature’s shoulder. All of this she took in in the span of several heartbeats. It took her that long to realize it had Alrik pinned under one paw.

Emry was shouting, her fingers fumbling for her quiver—Jacklyn and Geeson were frozen in place. Only Arya was moving, lunging through the snow as the storm lashed her eyes, raising her sword with her teeth bared in a silent snarl.

The beast stared at Arya, unmoving. Then it lowered its muzzle to Alrik's squirming form, his hands flailing desperately for the weapon pinned beneath him, eyes bulging with the weight bearing down from a paw the width of his shoulders.

The beast opened its jaws. Alrik screamed once, twice--the sound of popping cartilage and wet tearing flesh ended everything else. Its head raised, dripping gore; with a single jerk of its neck it sent Alrik's head spinning into the trees, blood flecking the snow as it went.

“ _Alrik!_ ” Jacklyn screamed, her mouth gaping in horror. The beast raised its bloody muzzle to fix its gaze on her next. Then Arya was upon it.

She brought her sword down on the back of the beast’s neck just as the creature twisted with a snarl. The sword glanced off the creature’s thick ruff and sent Arya stumbling into open air. The wolf’s jaws snapped closed inches from her back. Arya dove forward as a black flower with jagged petals sprouted from the creature’s flank—Emry was already reaching for the next arrow as the beast twisted to bite the bolt free, and Arya turned to make her next cut. At once Jacklyn was there, her swordpoint angling for the beast’s throat just as it turned and rammed her with the side of its massive head, sending her flying back into the snow with blood streaming down her face.  Geeson rushed to Arya’s side, teeth bared behind his white beard, and Dany—

Dany fumbled for her blade, fingers clumsy. She had to join them; her feet seemed to be rooted in the snow. She had to do something. She had—

 _The horn_.

The second her fingers grazed its carved surface the wolf’s gaze snapped to her. Yellow eyes pinned Dany with a stare that froze her in place. Her fingers nearly loosened on the horn. But then the beast began to sink into a crouch, its hackles raising, preparing to spring—Dany jerked the horn free from her belt and raised it as the wolf lunged, so impossibly large it should have taken an eternity to reach it, but it was there, filling her vision with grey and yellow and terrible white. Dany pressed the horn to her lips but there was no air in her lungs, and just as she took in a gasp the creature hit her with the force of a landslide.

Cold packed in all around her but for the hot air blown on her face. Dany was pinned in the snow by a weight so terrible she could not suck in a breath to scream, to cry for help; could only stare up into those awful yellow eyes as they slowly descended towards her. The lips pulled back. The _teeth_ —

“No!” The shout pierced through everything. “Nymeria, stop!” The words made no sense to Dany’s ears. All that existed were the jaws hanging suspended above her—they did not descend. Instead, the beast slowly turned its head to regard Arya with what Dany could swear was recognition.

Past the creature’s bulk, Dany saw Arya with her hands in the air, calling a halt; Emry’s arms trembled on the bow and Geeson’s fingers were white-knuckled on his sword. Arya stepped forward. Dany tried to shout, to warn her to stay back, but the beast’s weight pressed down on her ribs and she could scarcely draw breath. Closer, Arya stepped. The beast remained frozen as if under her thrall. Black spots crowded around the edges of Dany’s vision as she tried to grope for a weapon, for anything she could use. Her head twisted to the side and she saw the horn lying in the snow—broken in half.  

At last, Arya stopped. The beast could have lunged forward and sunk its teeth into her in the span of an instant, but it remained still, as if waiting. Arya’s hands had lowered and remained in front of her, calming, placating. Dany could only stare at her pleadingly from beneath the creature’s bulk, mouthing without the breath to speak: _Get back. Stay away._ But Arya’s eyes were on the creature alone.

“Nymeria,” she whispered. Her voice wavered in the air, scarcely audible over the wind howling over the pines. There was something reverent in her tone; something almost familiar. Slowly, Arya reached out her hand.

Without warning the beast snarled, a noise Dany felt traveling through her like a thunderbolt. The creature’s head whipped forward, she heard Arya’s cry—the terrible weight lifted from Dany’s chest. As she twisted, she caught a glimpse of the wolf’s broad back disappearing into the pines—and Arya dragged by her arm in its mouth.

“Arya,” Dany cried hoarsely, and then hands were around her, hoisting her up—Emry jerked her to her feet as Geeson charged after the beast’s trail. Dany stopped only to scoop the two broken halves of her dragon horn from the snow before stumbling after them. The others quickly disappeared into the pines; was Jacklyn still lying stunned and bloodied in the snow? There was no time to check, no time to think. Dany lurched on the trail, following the shouts over the roar of the wind.

Pine crowded around her, tainted by the metallic smell of blood. Dany followed the tracks in the snow, struggling to drag painful breaths into her lungs—pain shot through her chest where the beast had pinned her. Broken bones would have to wait. There were flecks of blood mixed in with the snow. Arya’s arm had been twisted cruelly in the creature’s mouth, dragging her like a hunk of meat—Dany remembered the size of its teeth.

She stumbled to a halt as the tracks before her began to split directions, churned and chaotic in the snow—had the creature circled back? Had Emry or Geeson? All Dany could do was follow the splotches of red.

Shouts seemed to come from far away, once or twice a cry of pain—impossible to tell where they echoed from through the dense pines and the howling wind. Dany tried to shout a name, and it wheezed out of her like a sigh.

When she pushed past the next wall of pine, she saw a crumpled figure lying in the snow.

“Arya,” Dany croaked, falling to her knees at the woman’s side. She did not need to investigate to see her arm was broken, and twisted free of its socket. Arya’s face held scarcely more color than the snow, flecked with smears of blood as she gritted her teeth against the pain.

Tugged in all directions by exhaustion and panic and pain, Dany’s mind seized onto the smallest details and clung to them like wreckage from a ship. The strands of Arya's hair over her forehead, slick with sweat or melted snow. The way her breath hitched in the middle and hissed out between her teeth. The freckles standing out against her pale cheek, which Dany had never noticed before. Dany laid a hand on Arya’s arm to try to see the damage and Arya’s roar of pain made her stop.

“The others,” Arya hissed. “We have to find them—”

From the distance, a shout arose. A growl seemed to wind its way through the boughs of the pine as if it could seek them out on its own.

“We can’t stay here,” Dany said.

A short nod. “I can walk,” Arya said after a moment to consider it. “Help me—”

Dany hastily supported her back as Arya began to lever herself off the snow—she slumped into a seated position, breathing hard, her arm cradled against her chest. While she rested, Dany quickly tore a strip of her cloak and bound Arya’s arm in place—she seemed only half-aware of what Dany was doing, until it was time to move again.

She tried to help prop and lift Arya without jostling her arm, but in the end it was impossible. All Dany could do was lift her to her feet as quickly as possible and catch her when her knees threatened to buckle.

In the end Arya stood, swaying and paler even than before, gripping Dany for support. When she looked down, Dany was surprised to see Arya’s bare hand gripping her arm—the glove had been in her mouth, dented with the marks of her teeth where she’d bitten it to avoid screaming.  

“Let’s go,” Arya said, her voice slurred. Dany reached for Arya’s good arm and drew it around her shoulders to support her—more concerning than anything was the fact that Arya did not complain.

They limped after the tracks, a confusion of boots and massive paws cross-hatching around the trees. As they walked Dany began to wonder what they were doing, or what they hoped to accomplish—Arya was in no shape to fight. Dany had no dragon, no guard—nothing more than her sword and the northern woman clinging to her shoulders, each breath swirling before them like a grey mist of pain.

The tracks led downhill, down a slope where the pine grew less frequent and the snow was lumped with boulders. Dany passed each of these with a  cold sweat of terror freezing the back of her neck, but the snow was undisturbed and they passed without harm. More than once Arya stumbled again—as the pines thinned the wind and snow clawed at the ground, until they could scarcely see which direction the tracks would turn five feet in front of them. When Arya’s legs finally gave out entirely, nearly dragging Dany down with her, she knew that they could go no further.

She knelt at Arya’s side. The woman’s head hung low, her other arm clutching her injured one tighter to her as if afraid it might fall off. “We have to find shelter!” Dany shouted over the wind.

Arya titled her head to meet her gaze, eyes full of agony and defeat. “We can’t abandon them,” she cried back, but offered no other solution. Dany’s eyes raked their surroundings, the boulders and the trees. The pines were too thin and sparse now to provide any cover; Dany doubted that Arya could make it back the way they had come. But there was a place ahead where the slope grew even steeper, and Dany glimpsed a sliver of true darkness behind the frenzied screen of snow.

“I see something ahead,” Dany said. “Just a little further.”

“You go look,” Arya said, her voice scarcely carrying. “I’ll rest here a moment.”

Dany did not release her grip on Arya’s arm. “Get up, Arya. I won’t risk losing you in the storm.”

Arya’s expression went beyond misery, but after a moment she nodded. When Dany hooked her hands beneath Arya’s arms and lifted her up, Arya’s scream was lost to the wind. She slumped against Dany, scarcely able to stay vertical; for a moment Dany just let her rest, feeling her shallow breaths panting against the sliver of Dany’s exposed neck. Together they limped forward again.

The cave’s presence was nothing short of a miracle as Dany and Arya stopped before the small cliff. The entrance was low; Dany left Arya leaning against the stones with her back to the wind as she investigated it. Though the opening was so low that Dany had to stoop to get inside, not long beyond it the ceiling rose so that she could stand. Impossible to say how far the cave went—there was no time.

“Let’s go,” Dany cried as she stepped out to find Arya again. The woman was slumped so far that Dany worried she had fallen unconscious, but at her words Arya turned to her. Slowly, painfully, Dany helped her duck under the lip of the cave and shuffle into the dark shelter beyond. The wind snapped at their cloaks as they left it behind, as if trying to drag them back. As they stumbled into the cave itself, the wind’s howl rose as chilling as the beast’s itself. With a thrill of relief, Dany realized that the cave entrance would be too small for the creature to easily pass. The storm would scatter their tracks and cover their scent.

They were safe. But they were also trapped.


	8. Chapter 8

The mouth of the cave was a pale gash in the darkness. Pressed at Arya’s side and shivering in the cold, Dany could scarcely look away. She did not know how long it had been since they had stumbled in out of the storm, but the howl of the wind had risen to an agonized frenzy tearing around the rocks outside. If the others were out there still, Emry and Jacklyn and Geeson and—Dany’s mind stuttered. Red blood lashing out over the snow. The guttering of Alrik’s scream. Teeth as long as her hand held flat, descending toward her throat.

All Dany could see was a white wall, impenetrable. The others could be dying feet from the entrance, frozen in the snow or ripped limb-from-limb, and she would  not even hear their cries.

Shivering, she moved closer to Arya beside her. The woman had not spoken a word since they settled with their backs to the cave wall. The cold from the stone leeched up through their clothes, but there was no helping it; their packs had been lost in the chaos, and Arya could scarcely stand. At times she would jolt against Dany’s side, as if starting awake from a dream. When Dany glanced at Arya’s face she saw her eyes were open, glazed, staring into nothing. Her cloak was pulled around her wounded arm, but the red stain seeped through. Her face remained so pale that her lips were almost blue. Dany reached out to press her palm to Arya’s cheek and found it as cold as ice.

Arya’s eyes shot open, found Dany, closed again. “You need,” she began, teeth chattering so hard that she could scarcely continue, “to scout out the cave.”

Dany stared at her in disbelief. “I’m not leaving you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” With her good arm, Arya raised a hand to point into the dark away from the cave’s mouth. “See how far back it goes. Whether there’s anything in here we might use.”

“What could we possibly find?”

Arya just stared at her blankly. Dany shook her head. “If you wanted to die freezing and alone, Arya Stark, you should never have brought me with you.”

A grim smile wavered over Arya’s lips. It seemed to take a great deal of effort to maintain it. “The thought has occurred to me. But I’d rather die cold and alone than torn to pieces by a cave bear.”

“So you’d rather _I_ get torn to pieces first.”

The laugh that slipped past Arya’s lips was more a sigh of pain. “Scream once for a bear, and twice for a snow lion.”

“Is that a sense of humor I detect?”

“It’s the blood-loss talking.”

Dany’s smile disappeared all too quickly. Arya’s quips were delivered in a pained whisper, as if moving her lips was too much effort. There was no time to waste. Carefully, Dany disentangled herself from Arya and faced the dark throat of the cave. The howling storm at her back painted the stones in pale grey, but beyond there was only darkness. ~~~~

She walked forward with one hand on the wall, her steps slow and careful. The cave remained level rather than plunging into the earth; the floor was surprisingly smooth. As the darkness began to gather closer fear moved through Dany’s chest like a draft of cold air. In the dark there was nothing between her and the memory of Alrik’s head being hurled into the trees, the terrible yellow eyes. Her hands were sweating inside of her gloves, shaking where they traced the rock, but the thought of Arya lying still and bleeding behind her kept her walking.

There was still a hint of grey light yet; Dany waited for it to fade to nothing but the feeling of the rock beneath her hands, but the light soon began to grow brighter. Soon she could clearly see the smooth stone beneath her feet, the glove tracing the wall. A cold breath blew on her face. As she rounded a final corner she stumbled to a halt, blinking against the wind and snow that lashed at her face. The cave opened up into a second entrance, much larger than the first—its mouth hung almost twice Dany’s height above her. She clung to the stones against the tearing of the wind, trying to squint through the white curtain. She could see nothing at all.

Dany pulled back around the bend in the cave, pressing her back to the stones. She was shaking harder now than she had been when she left Arya behind her. It was not just the cold. Dany did not have to inspect the cave’s entrance to know that it was more than large enough to let a large creature pass without difficulty. If the beast found them, they would not be safe here.

For a while Dany waited with her back to the cave wall, letting her heart stop pounding and her eyes readjust to the darkness. Just as she straightened to return to Arya’s side, something clattered around her feet. When she reached down to fumble at it, her fingers touched something rough and cold— _wood_. A modest store of it, stacked up by the wall of the cave. There was no time to question who might have left it there. Dany gathered up as much as she could carry and started down the passage back.

Arya was slumped over when Dany returned, and for an awful second Dany feared she had succumbed to the cold. But when she hastily set her burden down with a loud rattle, Arya gave another sleepless jolt and opened her eyes to meet Dany’s.

“What did you find?” she croaked.

Dany held up a piece of the wood. “Someone else has been here before us.”

A thin smile touched Arya’s lips. “Many someones, I would think. The First Men delved these caves. Wildlings must use them now.” Her head tilted back, eyes roving sightlessly over the darkness. “There must be a crack in the stone to funnel the smoke out.”

“I’ll find it,” Dany said immediately. Arya’s face seemed to have only grown paler. The heat from a fire might save her life.

Before long Dany had located the makeshift chimney, by sound rather than sight—she could hear the voiceless whistle of the wind louder as she stood beneath it, and when she removed a glove to raise her hand in the air she felt the eddying currents of wind on her fingertips. She quickly arranged the wood beneath it and retrieved the flint and steel from Arya’s belt. It felt like an eternity that she spent stooped before the wood watching sparks gutter impotently on the dry wood before the first curls of smoke began to rise. When she finally returned to lead Arya back to the crackling well of heat she had built, Arya seemed scarcely capable of speech—she leaned her weight on Dany without self-consciousness or pride. As Dany helped her down she slumped a little closer to the fire, but continued shaking with her eyes closed.

Dany sat at her side, their arms pressed together, sharing what warmth she had. “There’s a second entrance, deeper in the cave,” she said quietly. “Larger than this one.”

She wasn’t sure that Arya had heard; she did not open her eyes. “Larger,” Arya said at last, her teeth nipping the words into chattered parcels, “than a direwolf?”

Dany nodded, then realized Arya couldn’t see. “Surely it won’t be hunting in a storm like this.”

“She will,” Arya said, and the conviction in her voice was impossible to contest. “She’s looking for us, even now.”

 _She._ Not it. At once, Dany remembered that moment in the clearing. The weight of the beast pressing down on her, threatening to crush her ribcage as easily as a bird’s. Arya’s voice, the word—the name?—she shouted over the howl of the wind. The way the wolf had _responded_.

As if sensing her thoughts, Arya drew her injured arm closer to her body, reaching beneath her cloak to press at something. On impulse Dany pulled the cloak back to look—the blood had continued to ooze from Arya’s wound, as dark as ink in the flickering light of the fire. With a start, Dany saw Arya’s hand was ungloved. The skin was inflamed pink with the bite of the cold, fingers curled like the legs of a dead spider. When she reached out to seize it, Arya hissed in pain.

“My glove,” she said weakly, and Dany remembered how she had placed it in her mouth to bite down against the pain. “I couldn’t get it back on my hand, after.”

“You fool, Arya,” Dany whispered, shuffling to kneel in front of her. Gently this time, she took Arya’s hand to inspect it. How long had they been out in the storm with Arya’s hand unprotected? Dany knew so little of the cold, but she had heard stories of extremities turned black and swollen and dead by its mere touch. Arya’s face was twisted in a grimace as Dany slowly unbent her fingers—the fact that she felt anything at all must have been a good sign.

Dany found Arya’s glove tucked into her belt. She turned it inside out and placed it by the fire to warm before turning her attention back to Arya. “I need to bind your wound.”

“Have any experience with field medicine, your majesty?”

“You might be surprised.” Dany ripped a few more strips of cloth from her cloak—she’d be in nothing but rags at this rate. The arm of Arya’s jerkin had torn enough for Dany to peel it back. She felt Arya tremble, but she did not cry out. Beneath the stained cloth, the flesh was marked with puncture wounds the size of small coins. The creature could have easily bitten her arm clean off, or torn it free from her shoulder.

“Lucky,” Dany murmured. “It could have been much worse.”

“It wasn’t luck.”

Dany began to wipe the blood away from the wounds, Arya’s hiss of pain reverberating around the rocks. When Dany spoke next, her voice was measured, wary. “Then what was it, Arya?”

Arya stared into the fire. Its reflection in her eyes made her look more alert and lively than she was, and yet Dany knew Arya heard her question. Dany waited until she was certain Arya would not speak on her own volition, wiping and wiping at the gummy blood until the wounds were as clean as she could hope for and then tying the bandages in place. That done, she settled down at Arya’s side—and pulled her close.

Arya went rigid. “I’m fine,” she managed through chattering teeth. “You don’t have to—”

“Hush,” Dany said as she wrapped her cloak around them both and drew Arya against the warmth of her body. Arya was tense, shaking so hard Dany felt as if she might fall apart. She fitted her chin over the top of Arya’s head, waiting for the fire to lick away the cold still clinging to their clothes. For a while Dany thought Arya would actually push her away. But then she slumped in Dany’s arms, her shivers growing more violent as she pressed herself closer. Her gloved hand reached up to seize the fabric of Dany’s jerkin. Dany felt her breath trembling against the bare skin of her neck.

“Is this—really— _appropriate_ for a Queen—of the Realms—?” Arya managed.

Dany smiled into her hair. “If you prefer, I can let you freeze to death. It will be very proprietary.”

A shuddering breath that must have been a laugh. “Oh—good. You know I’d hate—to be _improper_.”

They lapsed into silence. At long last heat began creeping back into their veins—Dany’s breath no longer misted in front of her. Arya’s shivers lessened, and she knew that the time was coming to loosen the arm wrapped around her shoulders, to begin acting out the steps to put distance safely between them once more. Dany didn’t move. She was warm, comfortable; Arya’s face felt good where it pressed against her neck. Her bare thumb moved in small circles over the back of Arya’s hand, scarcely under the pretense of warming it.

“Arya,” Dany said softly. “Who is Nymeria?”

At the name, Arya went rigid. Her eyes stared into the fire with a different look now, not vacant, but frightened—like the expression on her face when she wiped the bile from her lips, standing in the bloody snow with the screams of devoured horses still echoing in the air around her. Arya’s eyes closed on the flames—a shaky breath escaped her lips. Dany felt it move through her. “It’s a long story,” she said in a voice Dany could scarcely hear over the howling of the wind outside.

 “We may be here a while.”

The bitter smile on Arya’s face disappeared as she pulled away—this time, Dany let her.

“They were so small,” Arya whispered. “So helpless, when we found them. One for each of us. I called mine Nymeria like the queen of old, and I loved her.”

Dany did not dare to raise her voice in a question. If she interrupted Arya now, she was afraid the woman would never speak of it again. “We were separated,” Arya continued in a dull voice. “She formed a pack of lesser wolves, went ravaging up the Twins; always heading further north.”

Arya’s frostbitten hand began to tremble. On an impulse she could not question, Dany stripped off her own gloves and reached out to take it in her own. The touch of skin on skin after nothing but numbing cold sent a shiver through her. She started rubbing Arya’s fingers, gently massaging the warmth back into them. Dany kept her eyes on her work, though she could feel Arya watching her.

“I dreamed her, some nights,” Arya whispered. “Of running through the forests with my pack, hunting, killing. I could taste the blood, smell the fear. I _liked_ the killing dreams. I didn’t know how not to.”

Dany’s fingers went still as Arya spoke. She only realized when Arya pulled her hand away with a sigh. “There are legends here in the north about such things. Wargs who slip from one skin to another as easily as breathing. I don’t know if that’s what I am. I never wanted to be. But I always knew that there was a connection between Nymeria and me, and I think she knew it too. Sometimes when I awakened from the dream I would feel like I was a wolf dreaming I was a girl, instead of the other way around.”

Slowly, Dany picked up the glove from its place by the fire and held it open for Arya’s hand. She met the woman’s gaze as Arya hesitated, then allowed Dany to help slide it back over her fingers once more. “The dreams stopped when I crossed the sea, and I forgot all about them—but after the war, when I returned to the north…” Arya shrugged, then winced at the pain in her side. “They were waiting for me. And so was she.”

Arya’s face was pale, sickly in the light. Dany stared up at her in faint bewilderment. “All this time,” she said softly. “You knew exactly what was killing those people.” A horrible thought shouldered its way into the forefront of Dany’s mind. “You didn’t dream—”

“Sometimes I did,” Arya said. Her gaze did not flinch away in shame or fear. She met Dany’s horror with defiance. “I couldn’t stop what was happening any more than I could stop the dreams themselves—and believe me, I tried.” Arya’s eyes shifted to the flames, her fingers clenching and unclenching within her glove. “I knew it would come to this. She is drawn to me just as I am drawn to her. We cannot escape each other.” A rueful smile touched her lips. “You have my apologies, your majesty. I’m afraid she’ll find me, even here.”

 Without her leave, Dany’s eyes darted to the darkness of the cave where beyond the wide open mouth awaited. “Will she kill you?” Dany asked softly.

“Only if I cannot kill her first.”

Dany stared at Arya, hunched towards the flame with her sword-hand frozen and her side gashed open, freckled standing out against the bloodless pallor of her skin. “I hate to be pessimistic,” Dany said softly, “But I am not so certain we should count on that.”

“What else would you have me do? She will come, no matter what. I can feel her even now.” A shudder went through Arya’s frame. “We both want to break the bond. We cannot stand to be tied together this way.”

“You stopped her before.” Arya went still. “The creature was about to kill me,” Dany continued. “You saw it as clearly as I did. But you did _something_ —you stopped her. And she didn’t kill _you_ , either.”

“I don’t know what I did,” Arya said through gritted teeth. “It just happened. If I could control the beast, I would have done so long before.”

“Before today, had you ever tried?” Arya stayed silent, staring into the flames. “If what you say is true, then it seems you will have to face this. One way or another If you could only—”

“And what if it does work?” The cave walls took Arya’s voice and magnified it to the crack of a whip. “If I can somehow _connect_ with this creature, what then? What if I cannot stop? What if I turn on you? What if—what if I could have—“

Dany shifted closer, resting a hand on Arya’s shoulder. “Arya,” she said, and waited for the woman to look up and meet her gaze. “You won’t.”

Arya’s lips twisted. “You’re awfully confident, your majesty. Especially given the fact that we don’t seem to like each other very much.”

“Liking has nothing to do with it. If you get the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms killed in some cave, it will make you look _very_ incompetent.”

“I have a feeling my reputation would be the least of my troubles.”

“But the greatest of your worries.”

Arya snorted. “Well, when you put it that way.” She turned to Dany again. Her hand slid naturally to the center of Arya’s back, rubbing in slow circles that scarcely fit the pretense of keeping her warm. Dany almost pulled away. But any warmth at all was a precious thing, and the look in Arya’s eyes filled the pit of her stomach with heat.

“Daenerys,” she began.

A mournful howl reverberated through the air, traveling from the darkness of the cavern to roll over them like a shiver down a spine. It was close. Much too close. Perhaps the beast was already inside.

Arya’s hand had let go of her own. Slowly, painfully, the other woman stood. She stared into that darkness with her sword arm cradled to her chest and the dark stain of blood still seeping from beneath her bandage. Her jaw was set. She did not look at all afraid.

“She’s here.”


	9. Chapter 9

The echoes of that terrible cry prowled into every nook and cranny of the cave until they exhausted themselves and died. The silence was worst. It forced Dany to _listen._

She leapt to her feet at Arya’s side, hand on her own dagger. The cold wind from the exit seemed to push them further into the darkness, gravity tugging them deeper into a chasm. Arya’s face was as stiff as one already mortally wounded. The hand of her injured arm was balled into a fist against her chest, and her left trembled where it held her sword—not from fear, Dany was certain. It was pain and exhaustion which would cripple her, tilting the final degrees in a battle that was hopelessly pitched to begin with.

“Arya.” She did not seem to hear. When Dany reached out to seize her arm she leapt as if the grip was a brand. “We can still get out,” Dany said urgently. Her eyes darted to the howling brightness behind them—dimmer, now. Somewhere beyond the storm, the sun was going down. “The creature— _Nymeria—_ cannot get through. We can draw her to us here, make our escape, leave her to circle around—”

“No.” Arya’s voice was hoarse. “We wouldn’t survive an hour in that.” Her hand tightened on her sword. It almost managed to stop the trembling. “I choose to die fighting.”

Dany’s grip on her arm tightened. “We cannot fight her, Arya. You saw what she did—”

“Would you rather have a coward’s death in the snow?” Arya shook her off violently, and nearly staggered with the effort. Dany raised her hand to stead her once more, but a sharp look from Arya made her lower her hand. “Leave if you wish. I will not stop you.”

“ _Arya_ —”

Whatever argument Dany might have made was cut off by a noise from deeper within the cave. It was so quiet Dany could scarcely hear it over the weak pop and crackle of their meager fire and the tooth-grating shriek of the wind, and yet there was no mistaking the cold terror that trickled its way out of Dany’s heart until it filled every vein. She could feel it in her chest—a growl, low and primal, a trembling on every inch of her skin, raising every hair. The fire cast a wall of light against the dark passage of the cave, yet beyond it the shadows deepened into an impenetrable mass.

Dany’s palms were damp with icy sweat inside of her gloves, every instinct urging her to put as much distance between herself and that terrible sound as possible. If she only had her horn—but Drogon was far from her now, as useless as her guards back in King’s Landing. He would return to her eventually, like a wayward child finding his way home—at this rate, he would find only gnawed bones in the snow.

But Arya stood her ground as if death meant nothing at all, her sword catching the firelight and her jaw set. Dany could not, would not leave her to her fate. Slowly, she drew her dagger.

At the motion, Arya’s eyes darted to her. They settled on Dany’s weapon, brandished against the darkness as she stood at Arya’s side. Her face softened. And then, she began to laugh.

Dany stared at her in disbelief, the sound of Arya’s chortles banishing the memory of what was stalking towards them at that very moment. “What could possibly be funny?”

“Nothing,” Arya said, her shoulders shaking with her suppressed laughter—which in turn, made her wince in pain and laugh even harder. “It’s just—it’s so _small_.”

Dany glanced down at her weapon incredulously. It was rather pathetic. “I don’t imagine yours is going to do much better,” she said, struggling to keep her voice disproving. Unbidden, a swell of mirth climbed up her throat, and before long she was struggling not to laugh herself. “At least with mine she can pick her teeth when she’s done with us.”

A wild burst of laughter tore from Arya’s throat, and with that Dany lost the last of her composure. They leaned together, shaking, their weapons wavering against the dark; in the dim light, their eyes found each other. At once the smile disappeared from Arya’s face, but not the softness in her eyes.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said. “Once she has me, there’s a chance all this could stop.”

Dany glanced pointedly at the maelstrom struggling to claw its way through the cave entrance at their backs. “If it’s between you and the fury of the North, Arya Stark, I believe I’ll put my trust in you.”

Arya blinked. Something crossed her face so quickly it might have been a shadow chased by the firelight. Whatever it was, it gave Dany strength. She and Arya turned back to the passage, their shoulders touching. The point of contact was the one stable thing Dany could brace herself against, even as she felt Arya tremble and sway. The darkness  waited. And then, it moved.

It began as a sort of _converging_. Of the shadows beyond the flame seeming to gather together, to become solid. At first, Dany thought it was only the smoke. But then, the eyes. Two points of yellow catching the light of the fire and throwing it back to her. Empty, and burning with terrible hunger. Dany watched them rise like embers, as the creature rose from a crouch. They were far too high off the ground. The darkness resolved into streaks of grey, a muzzle, muscled shoulders, thick legs ready to spring. The firelight caught a flash of teeth and painted it red.

It was all Dany could do to keep her legs under her and her dagger-point raised as the hulking shape stalked around the perimeter of the firelight. A pale shape half in shadow, Nymeria seemed to form out of the darkness itself. The next growl was much louder, a ripple in the air that built to a snarl, a tongue darting out to lick the awful fangs bared at them.

“Gods,” Arya whispered. “I can feel her.” Dany felt Arya tremble at her side—and then start to shake as if she were about to fall apart. Dany could scarcely tear her eyes off the monster before them, but she had to look. Arya’s eyes were utterly white.

“Arya—” Dany’s breath froze in her chest. She dared not move, lest Nymeria lunge for the motion; she could only stand frozen, eyes darting between Arya and the creature before them. If Arya heard her, she did not respond.

Slowly, her sword lowered.

Dany dared not even breathe as Nymeria padded closer. Each paw must have been the size of both Dany’s hands spread side y side; the highest point of her back would be level with Dany’s shoulder. And her jaws—her jaws were large enough to close around Dany’s head and swallow it in a single bite. The dagger in her hands was a poor jest. She could only wait, watching as Nymera drew closer until she filled her entire frame of vision—and came to a stop just before Arya.

Impossible to gauge what thoughts turned behind those amber eyes; Arya was still, her eyes full of mist. In an instant, it could be all over. Nymera’s jaws could open and snap shut before Dany would have time to react. But she remained still, her eyes a mere arm’s length away from Arya, staring as if she understood. A second later, Arya crumpled.

Dany was reaching out to catch her before she was aware of what she was doing—she seized Arya before she hit the floor, barely holding her upright. By the time she looked up again, Nymeria had turned away. Dany watched as she circled the light of the fire, her muscles shifting powerfully beneath their coat of grey fur. The passageway yawned before her. In seconds the darkness seeped into Nymeria’s shape, blurring her outline until she was nothing more than a pale shape hanging in the shadows; and then, there was nothing at all.

It was some time after that when Dany’s breath hissed out of her in a rush, and she bent to inspect the limp woman in her arms. “Arya.” Her eyes were closed now. When Dany tugged back the lid, she saw nothing but natural grey. Unconscious; but te strange magic had faded with Nymeria into the storm.

Muscles trembling from the fear which still lingered in her veins, Dany dragged Arya’s limp body back into the warmth of the guttering fire. Arya’s face was smooth as Dany lowered her down in its light; if dreams moved through her mind, they were quiet ones. Dany put more wood on the fire, silently thanking the wildlings who had gathered it to begin with, and then settled down at Arya’s side with her cloak wrapped around them both. The cold burrowed under her skin, hungry and relentless. Outside, the storm reared to an all new height, a fevered pitch as wind lashed through the opening, as if wanted nothing more than to clamber inside and snuff their fire out.

It would be all too easy to die here. The storm showed no signs of stopping; they had no food, no water, only the barest shelter. Dany had resolved to stay awake, keep her back to the storm and her eyes fixed on the darkness lest the creature return; but the meager warmth of the fire and the solid weight of Arya’s body beside her made every thought stretch thin and far apart. Fear and exhaustion hounded her to the edge of the void. At long last, Dany placed her final trust in whatever it was Arya had done. She let her head fall forward into the crook of Arya’s neck, wrapped her arms tighter around Arya’s waist, and let sleep drag her down.

 

* * *

 

_“Father, I’ve found something!”_

The distant shout jolted Dany from unconsciousness as surely as a cold blade to the back of her neck. When she opened her eyes and remembered where she was, she was certain it was a dream. Cold closed in around her the second she opened her eyes and sat up. The fire had burned down to nothing more than smoldering embers; the light in the cave was dim and icy blue, filtering through the snow which had drifted up against the mouth of the cave until only a sliver of a gap remained. Beyond it, sunlight at last. When Dany looked down on Arya’s face it looked as still and pale as death; she clasped an ungloved hand to her cheek, and found it warm.

At the touch Arya stirred, leaning into it moments before her eyes slid open. She regarded Dany through half-open lids, her gaze wandering up to the roof of the cave and ten over to the fire. Memory and alertness crept back into her gaze. She opened her eyes fully and sat up.

“I—” Arya’s voice was hoarse. She frowned, rubbing her throat. “I had strange dreams.”

Dany could not help but laugh at that, relief expanding to fill every inch of her skin. “Do you remember—”

“Yes. Some of it.” Arya’s eyes went distant, drawn into the flickering of the embers. “I sent her away,” she said quietly. “I told her the way to go, far north, beyond the Wall. I… I don’t believe she will ever come back.”

There was a old sorrow in Arya’s voice, halting and rusty with disuse. When Dany reached out to tentatively stroke a hand over  her short hair, Arya’s throat bobbed in a hard swallow and she did not pull away.

“Emry? Where are you?”

The cry, distant as it was, made Dany jerk her hand back with a sharp hiss of breath. Arya’s eyes were wide. “Did you hear—”

“Yes,” Arya breathed. “They’re _alive—”_

A fierce grin spread itself over Dany’s face as she hauled herself to her feet. “Come on.” Her muscles were stiff and her joints popped with every movement, but she helped Arya to her feet and they limped over to the snow-packed mouth of the cave. The gap the storm had left was little more than a hands-breadth wide, but through it came sunlight and the fresh touch of a breeze. The silence outside was difficult to believe after the constant wail of the storm; but in that silence, Dany heard the crunch of footsteps and the sound of lowered voices.

 “Over here—I thought I saw some smoke.”

“No one could build a fire so soon after that storm. Wood’s too wet.”

“I swear I saw it, from atop that rise…”

“Emry!” Arya’s shout echoed in the cave around them. Hard to say how much of the noise made it through the thick wall of snow. “Geeson! In here!”

Understanding what needed to be done, Dany began to shove her hands into the narrow opening in the snow and widen it as best she could. It was heavy and wet, and soaked her gloves in seconds; but soon the opening was broad enough for Dany to clamber forward and twist her head into the gap, into the open air.

“Over here!” she shouted, the snow cold against her cheek and neck. Her eyes were level with the plain of snow which had drifted right up to the entrance to their cave. Outside, all she could see was white.

“Daenerys?” The cry came closer than before, followed by the crunch of footsteps. Wrenching her shoulder painfully, Dany managed to tug her arm through the gap after her. She sank her fingers into the snow and pulled, until her other arm and half her torso was free. Blinking, she could make out a crisp blue sky and shadows against the white—pines inching out from under their blankets of snow. And then, just in front of her, shadows and movement and the feeling of hands gripping her arms to pull her he rest of the way out.

“I’ve got her!” Emry cried, as Dany’s legs cleared the remaining gap and she flopped onto her back beneath the sky. Emry’s face hung blurry above her, its features indistinguishable in the almost unbearable light.

“Arya’s injured,” Dany said, forcing herself to sit up and press her gloves over her eyes. “Her arm. We’ll need to widen—”

“Of course. Father, get Jacklyn!” Emry immediately stooped over the gap in the snow and began to dig. Eyes still bleary, Dany shifted onto her knees and lent her stiff fingers to the job.

By the time Geeson and Jacklyn came half-running, half-falling through the snow, they had widened the gap enough for Arya to crawl through. She emerged, hair plastered to her face with sweat and melted snow, shuffling forward with one arm as she held her injured on to her chest. From the way her teeth were bared, Dany imagined she must be in no small discomfort. The giggle that rose unbidden from Dany’s throat slipped past the fingers she clasped over her mouth.

Still on her hands and knees, Arya glared up at her with a dark expression. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Dany managed, before the laughter overtook her again. “It’s just—you look like a direbear coming out of hibernation.”

The sharp, aborted laugh from Emry behind her was enough to send Dany into a new fit of giggles. Arya glared at them both for a moment longer, before she shook her head and huffed out a laugh of her own.

“Well I don’t see what we’ve got to chuckle about,” Geeson said as his boots crunched to a halt a short ways away. He crossed his arms over his broad chest to stare down at them disapprovingly. “We’ve no horses, minimal supplies, and we’re as far from Winterfell as we could hope to be.”

Behind him, Jacklyn stood silent and pale-faced. The sight of her made the unbidden laughter die in Dany’s throat. Yes, they were alive—but not all of them, and not for a certainty.

At the expressions on their faces, Geeson’s glare softened. “I’m glad you both made it.” He offered Arya a hand, and gently pulled her to her feet. She stared at each of their party in turn, her eyes lingering on Jacklyn the longest. After a moment she stepped forward to rest a hand on Jacklyn’s shoulder, wordless in their understanding.

“I am going to get you back,” she said to them all. “If it takes us an entire Summer, we _will_ see Winterfell again.”

The faint breeze was blowing harder now, twitching the pale hair around Dany’s face. Arya stood with her arm still gripped to her chest—travel for her would be painful and slow. Without a doctor, there was no telling how the wound would fester. And if it had taken them days to travel this far, on horseback, in only shallow snow—

At once, the wind became a blast so powerful that the top layer of snow leapt back into the air and swirled as violently as a second blizzard. The blinding white around them darkened for a single moment; above them, a dark shape and the dull thud of massive wings in the air. The pines lashed free of their white shrouds and sighed in the gale Drogon’s passage left behind.

Dany tilted her head back to the sky and smiled. She knew he would return to her. When she lowered her gaze to the shocked faces around her, the smile on her face only widened.

“I believe we may make it back somewhat sooner than that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone's cool with a little drogon-ex-machina to skip over the grueling journey back ;) 
> 
> A quick note: I decided to combine the final chapter and the epilogue into a single package, so there's only going to be one more update to this fic. I'll aim to have it posted sometime over the next week or two. Thanks so much for your patience, guys!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'll have this done in a week or two guys I swear!!" TWO MONTHS LATER
> 
> Thank you so much for everyone who has been patient with me updating this at the speed of plate tectonics. Your feedback is a big part of what has helped me finally finish this, between real life and other fandoms and living in a van sometimes. I hope you enjoy the final installment!

Smoke rose to the rafters of Winterfell’s banquet hall, winding around the beams like grey fingers. Far below, the smell of cooked meat and ale hung thick in the air. For hours Dany had sat at the high table, Catelyn Stark on one side and Arya on the other. The toasts had been made, long-winded and eloquent as the night began, but soon growing shorter, pithier, and much more bawdy as the ale continued to flow. Many had been in Arya’s name; many yet were for Daenerys Stormborn. She had already heard the Northerners talk of the Beastslayers, and of a partnership between North and South not seen since the time of Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon. Dany had smiled, had laughed, had made many toasts herself. But through it all her eyes continually slid to the woman at her side, and found Arya just as studiously avoiding her own.  

A hand laid on Dany’s arm. She turned to meet Catelyn’s gaze. With all the excitement of the remaining hunters returning to Winterfell on dragon-back with news of their success, Dany had scarcely had a moment to speak to the Lady of Winterfell in private since her cryptic warning on the eve of Dany’s departure. Now, Catelyn’s eyes had softened from the grey of steel to the color of the calm waters of the Trident. The scar stretching across her throat was just visible above the high collar of her dress, another reminder of all the North had managed to survive. 

“I have not yet had the chance to thank you for bringing my daughter back to me.” A small smile touched Catelyn’s thin lips. “Gods know she must not have made it easy for you.” 

Dany had to smile at that in return. “None of us would have made it back without Arya to guide us, my lady.” 

Catelyn’s voice was low, the hubbub of the banquet hall nearly swallowing her words. “There are other means of getting lost, Queen Daenerys. Some paths even Arya cannot navigate alone.”

Staring into Catelyn’s eyes, so like Arya’s own, Dany wondered how much the woman had known before she sent her daughter out to face the wolves. Daenerys might be Stormborn, but the woman before her had weathered more than most.  

Dany inclined her head. “It was my honor, Lady Stark.” A knowing smile touched Catelyn’s lips at that. She nodded, and turned away.

When Dany turned back to her left, Arya was gone. 

The pit dropped out of Dany’s stomach for as long as it took for her eyes to rake the crowd—and spot Arya slipping along the back wall, laughing, clasping shoulders, but clearly making for the exit. Dany’s eyes remained riveted on her, following Arya’s progress all the way to the doors flung open to let the welcome spring chill into the hot banquet hall. 

Dany thought Arya was going to steal out into the night without a backwards glance. But then, the woman paused. She turned, and looked across the noisy, crowded banquet hall, and met Dany’s eyes. For a moment, nothing else existed. Every nerve, every fiber of Dany’s being bent towards that slight figure hesitating against the backdrop of night. And then Arya turned and left, her pace leisurely as the darkness of the night swallowed her up. 

Dany scarcely realized that the air was frozen in her throat until a chuckle at her side reminded her to breathe. She turned to face Catelyn Stark once more, but this time the woman’s face had brightened with amusement, her lips twisted wryly. 

“Are you going to follow her?”

Dany glanced at the merry faces of the feasters in the hall around them. “Would it not be improper for me to leave?”

Catelyn laughed again. When she smiled, the resemblance to her daughter was undeniable. “You are the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Daenerys. You may do whatever you wish.” 

For a moment, Dany held Catelyn’s gaze. Then she smiled. 

The air was cold on her face as she slipped out a side entrance, avoiding the questioning gazes which followed her back. Most of the feast-goers were too deep in their cups to note even her white-blonde hair. It took her a moment to gain her bearings, the stone walkway paralleling the banquet hall and curving around the corner. Dany could see it led to the Great Keep. She couldn’t be certain of where Arya had gone, but she moved without hesitation. No guards, now—she made her way to Arya’s chambers alone. 

The door was not only unlocked, but slightly ajar. From the open sliver Dany  could see the dim flicker of firelight—there was no sound. She paused outside; the hairs on her nape prickled. She felt as if she were standing at the mouth of an animal’s den, not the door of the heir of Winterfell. No way of knowing what wild, restless impulse had driven Arya out of the merry halls of the banquet. She could picture Arya crouched in the dark, her hair hanging in front of her eyes, waiting for the movement at the door she knew would come, ready to strike. But it wasn’t fear that made Dany’s heart beat faster. She had faced direwolves in the flesh. Starks held no terror for her.

She pushed the door open without knocking, and closed it behind her. 

There was no rush of an attack, no grappling of arms and tangling of legs—Dany almost found herself disappointed. She could see the outline of Arya’s profile against the low light of the fire, bent forward in a hard wooden chair with her elbows braced on her knees. For a while, Dany simply watched. Arya did not move, did not speak, though she must have heard Dany enter. She sat as motionless as a rabbit beneath the shadow of a hawk. As if she were trying not to be seen. It was then that Dany realized it wasn’t Arya’s usual restless aggression which had driven her from the feast; it was something akin to fear. 

At last Dany stepped forward, sinking into the wooden chair across from Arya with the flickering light of the fire between them. Dany allowed the silence to draw out. Arya did not acknowledge her presence; the breach in protocol made Dany’s fingers twitch in anticipation. She had entered this room not as a queen, but as whatever she and Arya had become to each other out in the white and the cold. 

Since Arya would not meet her gaze, Dany used the opportunity to study her without restraint. Dany’s eyes traced the contours of Arya’s face as if she could feel them by sight alone. The sharp nose, the dark, alert eyes. The hard set of her mouth, bracketed with creases from long practice with frowns. Arya was not beautiful. But Dany could have studied her features until the next great winter came upon them. 

At long last Arya let out a breath, slow and measured through her nose. She straightened in her chair, her eyes raising to Dany’s. “It seems you have accomplished what you came to Winterfell to do.”

A wry smile touched Dany’s lips. She crossed her legs, feigning comfort even as anticipation played like lightning through her blood. “Well, I certainly did not set off north intending to hunt down a man-eating direwolf.”

Arya snorted, twisting her face away as if to hide the emotions that flickered over it. “You have won the North. Tales of your deeds are already spreading. The people look to you with respect—respect which you earned in full.” Arya’s hands clenched on the arms of her chair, and then consciously relaxed. 

The fire popped and crackled. Despite its warmth, Dany felt gooseflesh rising on her arms. “I came here to secure the loyalty of the North. Not just their words, but in their hearts.”

Arya looked up and held her gaze at last. Her eyes were half in flickering shadow, unreadable and remote. “You have felt the cold. Have stood by Northerners and fought for our safety. The people believe you will do right by us.”  Arya hesitated. “I’m beginning to believe it too.” 

Dany draped her wrists over the arms of her chair, inspecting Arya with a gaze that revealed nothing. “You do not sound very convinced.”

“I am not a very trusting person.”

Dany tiled her head. “Sometimes we must do things that are not in our nature. We do them because someone asks it of us.”

Arya’s eyes were riveted to her, dark and wide in the firelight. “Are you asking me to trust you?”

A slow smile touched Dany’s lips. It was not unfriendly, but neither was it safe. “No, Arya Stark. I am asking you to kneel.”

For a long moment Arya held her gaze. Dany did not flinch away. Something passed between them, a sensation that lingered in the air like the smell of smoke and settled in the pit of Dany’s stomach like a rich and heady wine. Arya’s tongue darted out to moisten her lips. Dany’s gaze locked to the movement, and lingered there. 

“You,” Arya began, and stopped as  her voice emerged too hoarse, too rough. “You say that you ask me to kneel, my queen. But I do not see I have the option to refuse.” 

Dany tilted her head slightly. “Do you want to?” 

At once Arya rose. She crossed the distance between their chairs in a few short strides, until she stood looking down at Dany with a taut, fierce glint in her eyes. 

“No,” she said, and sank down. 

Watching Arya kneel in deference before her made the feeling in Dany’s stomach surge to life, flowing into her veins like fire. Arya was so close that she could have bent forward to touch her lips to Dany’s knee. The image of that set her heart pounding faster, the muscles in her legs tensing in anticipation. Arya held her gaze until she had sank fully down, and then bowed her head. 

“I do trust you, Daenerys,” Arya said, her voice husky and low. “As much as it terrifies me, I do.”

Slowly, Dany leaned forward. Arya’s head remained bent, her gaze fixed on the ground; but Dany could see the tremor run through her shoulder blades as she shifted closer. Dany’s fingers skimmed the line of Arya’s jaw, and tilted her head upward. The look on Arya’s face nearly took her breath away. Hungry, and desperate, with the slightest edge of fear—for it was no small thing which she had just admitted, and no small thing which Dany was about to do. 

Dany leaned forward, pausing just long enough for Arya to draw back, to turn away. She did neither. Her eyes bored into Dany’s, and for a moment it was Nymeria’s eyes that stared up at her, wild and feral and terrifying. Dany’s hand slid back from Arya’s jaw to curl in her hair, and tighten. She leaned in and brushed Arya’s lips with hers. 

Arya’s lips were warm and chapped, moving slowly, contemplatively, as Dany  pressed closer. It was Arya who surged forward to deepen the kiss, her mouth opening with a hot gasp of breath and the touch of her tongue. Dany kissed her until she was dizzy, until both her hands were tangled in Arya’s hair to drag her halfway into her lap, Arya’s hands fumbling at Dany’s belt as her kisses traveled up and  down Dany’s throat. 

“Do you grant such favors to all who grant you fealty?” Arya murmured, her fingers traveling between Dany’s belt to the laces of her jerkin as if unable to decide which to undo first. 

Dany laughed, tilting her head back to allow Arya’s kisses free reign. “Only to the most impudent direwolves.”

“Lucky me. I’m as impudent as they come.” 

Dany’s laughter was quickly cut off as Arya finally succeeded in opening her jerkin. Arya’s hands settled on her hips and pulled her to the edge of the chair, settling herself firmly between Dany’s legs. After that, they did not speak much at all. 

* * *

 

Later,  Dany lay tangled in the blankets of Arya’s bed, the warmth of Arya’s body sprawled beside her and the steady rhythm of her breaths rising and falling in the darkness. The fire had died down to nothing but a dim glow on the other side of the room, illuminating nothing. The night outside the small window was moonless. The darkness was very dense, as heavy and thick as snowfall. 

Dany breathed in the smell of Arya’s hair, and with it came the scent of pine sap, the sharpness of the air just before a snowfall. Though she could see nothing around her, she felt as if the great trees were rising above the bed, jagged mountains raking the sky in the background. This was Arya’s country, alien and unforgiving, beautiful as the glint of a cold steel dagger. Dany might win the loyalty of its people, but the North would always be wild. 

In the darkness and safety of Winterfell’s Keep, Daenerys closed her eyes. Her fingers found Arya’s in the dark. Somewhere, far beyond the window pane and the stone walls of civilization—beyond even sheer Wall of ice rising like a moonlit beacon across the wilderness—somewhere out in that unending winter, a wolf’s howl rose like a lonely wind; and then, at last, fell silent. 


End file.
